


Winnipeg

by LotusRox, thelonebamf



Series: Run From Their Company [3]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Gen, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-04 03:27:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5318717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LotusRox/pseuds/LotusRox, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelonebamf/pseuds/thelonebamf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave and Hal are attacked in the middle of the night, forcing them to make a run for it. With no time to plan they have to rely on their wits to make it out alive. ...So it's really not a good time for Dave to be utterly incapacitated...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thunder Bay

The sound of their alarms blaring would’ve woken Dave up on its own, but the thundering racket of someone trying to throw their door down has him stumbling out of his bedroom, ice-cold sweat running down his body at the certainty they are in danger,they are in danger and he is– Adrenaline would **have** to be enough! He had been lured into thinking– And no, no, trusting Hal had been a mistake! He shouts, and his words still come out slurred, “What the fuck have you done this time?!“

 

When Dave steps out of his room, Hal is already on the way to the door, duffle clutched close to his chest. He winces as Dave practically shouts into his face from just a few inches away. Tears are already forming in his eyes, but somehow the sight and sound (and smell?) of being shouted at snap Hal back to the point where he can at least respond.

 

“I didn’t do anything!” He yells back, though there’s no time for arguing. “But we have to get the fuck out of here!” He turns and runs towards the kitchen window, thrusts it open and starts scrambling through it, pausing only long enough to sling the strap of his bag around his neck.

 

There is a slight jolt in his stomach as he falls to the metal of the fire escape, and he glances down just to make sure whoever is at the door doesn’t have a friend below him. “Dave, come ON!” He yells through the window before scurrying down the steps to where their car waits in the alley below.

 

The world outside still spins enough to try and make him stumble but Dave wills himself into steadiness (because he has to, he _needs_ to or they are going to die, they…)

 

He retrieves the car keys with heavy hands, his holster with the gun and the ammo, and thinks of the money they have under the loose tile of their small kitchen and– There’s no time, the first hinge of the door jumps out of the frame, twisted and broken. This is no CIA job. CIA wouldn’t be making this racket, giving them a warning before the strike, no…

 

Their locks are intact but the second hinge bends with the next assault, and Dave jumps out of the kitchen window and onto the fire escape. He feels clumsy running down the steps and they can’t afford clumsy–

 

“Hal! The car!”

 

The coast down at the parking lot is clear. Looks clear anyway. And Dave,  goes first and runs, clicking the alarm off, fumbling with the keys as he tries to open the car from the driver’s seat– He flings himself inside, cursing up a storm between tightly clenched teeth, his holster still hanging loosely from his arm…

 

Hal is already at the bottom of the escape by the time Dave reaches the window, waiting at the passenger side door and grabbing at the handle as the car is unlocked. His door slams and he sinks down in his seat just in time to hear the bullets smashing into the side of his door.

 

They’re firing at them. The bullet impacts on the frame of the passenger’s door, narrowly missing the window. Dave can’t stop now to retaliate, no, he needs to start the car and get them out of there, Thunder Bay’s layout is easy enough, he needs to get them on the highway, he can fire back as soon as they can move.

 

“Fuck, Dave! Go!” Hal yells, throwing himself to the side, trying to hide himself as best he can from their line of sight. “Fucking go!”

 

He doesn’t know what’s wrong with the man. They’re both under pressure, sure, but Dave is always in control, always has the answers. But right now Hal is too panicked to think much about the twisting, sinking feeling in the bottom of his stomach. Right now all he can think about is that they need to go.

 

“There’s construction by the Walsh street exit,” he says quickly. “You’re going to have to head south to Frederica. Or cross the river, maybe we’ll get lucky and put some cars between us and them on the bridge, just fucking hurry!”

 

The motor starts, and going through the motions to get the stick-shift piece of scrap metal to move can’t happen fast enough. But it doesn’t help to have Hal screaming like that, yelling instructions at him as if they hadn’t planned their escape route together, - the first thing they did after getting to this city and deciding on the apartment as their safehouse. He growls in agreement, steps on the gas, and the fucking motor decides the pressure he is using to depress the clutch isn’t the right one, flooding the engine.

 

A second bullet ricochets off them, at the back door, and another one shatters its window, but there’s no shower of glass shrapnel behind them. Distantly, as the starts the motor again, he remembers buying an old shitty car with security windows for this exact reason.

 

His whole focus is on this, and his body still isn’t responding as he wants, and if he had the time, or were sober enough to think, he’d realize the anger he feels violently bubbling in his core is towards himself.

 

They’re not moving. They’re not fucking moving. Another bullet has come within inches of him and they are in a car that is not. Fucking. Moving.

 

FUCK! Dave!” Hal shouts out of pure terror rather than frustration, and then all of a sudden it’s too late, the car door is opening, hands have reached in and grabbed him by the leg and Hal is screaming incoherently, kicking and scrabbling in vain to find purchase on the Dave, on the seats, on anything that will just keep him out of their reach.

 

He’s not thinking. There’s no time for thinking. There’s just time for action and it’s only because his hand has brushed against the leather strap dangling from Dave’s chest that he even processes it as an option.

 

He turns, fires once, twice, still screaming-

 

-and the engine roars to life.

 

The wheels almost slip in the gravel of the parking lot, the acceleration sharp and sudden. But they are moving, even if the gunshot still rings in his ears, the scream of agony of whoever the fuck Hal’s assailant was shut out once he can close the door again.

 

“You alright?”, Dave says, because he is panting and still half in a panic but–

 

But, this shouldn’t have happened.

 

“That. Was a good reaction”, he adds, because he needs to reassure Hal of having taken the right option.

 

And his words are slurred and his whole body feels way too heavy but at least the massive dose of adrenaline shot into his bloodstream is helping his mind clear a little bit. Enough to drive, and drive fast as they need. Enough to be able to recognize anything beyond the vicious fury he feels for being weak enough to have compromised them like he did.

 

Everything is silent. Everything is white. Everything has ceased to exist except Hal’s own mind and Hal can’t even make sense of that even from within. He slowly rights himself in his seat, buries his head in his hands and allows a single sob to be wrenched from his body.

 

“No, Dave. I’m not alright.” He says from behind his hands. “I’m not fucking alright. Fuck!” He drags his fingers down his face balling them into fists, jamming them down at his side. “How can you sit there and ask me something like that? We could have been… I just…” He stares down at the gun that’s slipped down by his feet and immediately draws his legs up against his chest.

 

“And at least one of us was reacting…” he mumbles into his knees.

 

“We knew it was bound to happen”, Dave mutters, speeding through the streets. He makes sure they don’t get followed throwing in detours, and at this ungodly hour in the morning, with the streets empty, red lights lose meaning in the face of more dire threats. "I was getting us out.”

 

The needle indicating KM/H in their panel doesn’t stop rising. His words don’t stop getting more and more difficult to enunciate. It hadn’t been that long, since he had ‘gone to bed’… Saying he is worried about how much sloppier he was probably going to get was such an understatement it’s painful - anxiety is making his heart race as fast as their car, soaring despite the alcohol diluting his blood.

 

“You were prepared, and made the call. You survived. That’s what matters the most.”

 

“That’s all there is to it then? We survived?” He stares at Dave for a moment, but finds he had no idea what to say to the man.

 

“I’m going to be sick,” Hal mutters at last, not appearing to heed Dave’s words at all.

 

He presses his head against his knees and tries to keep himself steady, to suppress the desire to scream or vomit or do whatever he has to in order to release the tension in his body. There’s not much he can do, however- and it feels like he’s hurtling into darkness. He lurches forward at a bump in the road, suddenly making him aware of how fast the car is actually going.

 

“Shit,” he says under his breath, forcing himself to lower his legs and quietly buckling his seat belt around him. His hands tighten around the strap as he glances back and forth from the road to Dave’s face.

 

_We’re under a lot of pressure. He just woke up. Nobody would be doing their best on the road under these kinds of conditions. Keep focused on the next step._

 

“I… I was able to grab my computer but not much else. We… if we’re going to go any further, we need a plan.”

 

Dave isn’t like this when he’s “just woken up”. He knows it. He knows Hal knows it. He should have been able to go from 0 to 60 with no effort at all - it’s in his instincts, his training, it’s one of the key abilities a soldier needs to have.

 

Overly conscious of how he has been behaving and why, he does his best to decrease their speed as gently as he can until they stop. They’re already in the outskirts of the city. They aren’t being followed.

 

Dave parks the car on the side of the road, and exhales.

 

“Gotta agree with you”, he says, at last.

 

They had a protocol for leaving town, but…

 

_It was on you to enforce it._

 

“What do you suggest”, he asks, carefully. He doesn’t trust his own voice. He knows it’s ridiculous to hope Hal hasn’t noticed. Fucking hell. He desperately wants to sober up, and fighting for that is a lot like being underwater. Tied up by kelp and struggling to free himself from it so he can just– Go up to the surface, and breathe.

 

They’re dead if he can’t get over it.

 

Hal’s brow furrows as he tries to focus on the question instead of the way Dave has asked it. He runs his hands up and down the strap across his chest and tries to think, just think about what they need to do instead of what he’s done.

 

“We can’t… just leave,” he says at last, after they’ve put another ten kilometers between them and the city. “We lay low, maybe another hour, somewhere out of sight and then we have to go back. I’ve got my machine but that’s it. We left everything back in town, you know?”

 

He runs his fingers through his hair, doing his best to keep from shouting again if only to try and rid himself of some of the adrenaline coursing through his system. “Grrrgghhh- okay! We need the cash at least. The rest isn’t as big a deal but we are going to be in a bad way if all we have is the clothes we’re wearing and… half a tank of gas.” They might be in a bad situation anyway if Dave is any indication,  slight shifting of the car making him feel more and more uneasy.

 

“So, fine. We go back”, he mutters.

 

 Dave isn’t thinking straight. If he were, he’d be planning for a later return, probably the next day. He’d be thinking of how to keep Hal safe while he slips inside their busted safe house to retrieve whatever he can, and only once the waters have calmed a little. He–

 

– can only feel the panic of being impaired by his own hand, because he is too fucking weak to get over his nightmares on his own like he should and can’t remember the last time he went to bed sober.

 

 

But waiting it out… Knowing it’s only going to get worse, _he_ is only going to get worse…

 

 

“We should go now.”

 

He turns sharply at Dave’s words. Now? Right now? Just turn around and go right back into the waiting arms of the people who had just tried to kill them for any number of possible reasons? Who might be CIA? Who might have backup? Who _definitely_ have guns?

 

Whoever had come after them was definitely highly motivated to keep coming after them, even if Hal had wounded _oh please let him have only wounded_ one of their number. If anything, that would only make them more determined to find them. And while there is a chance they could have also left the city, it iwas more likely they were still within its limits, looking for them- maybe back in their apartment, looking for clues as to where they’d gone.

 

Every single part of Hal’s mind is screaming for them to stay away, to keep their distance until they can be reasonably sure the coast is clear. But that’s not what he says.

 

What he says is-

“Okay.”

 

Dave takes a deep breath, wanting more than anything to steady himself. “They… might have disbanded.”

 

He rubs at his eyes, doing his best to control the bitterness, the swaying. Useless. Some hero you are. He adds, “They aren’t CIA. It’s– not their MO.”

 

Starting the car again, he turns to Hal. And if he looks like he’s holding onto the wheel more than controlling it, it’s just– “Any idea of who they are?”

 

Get the car on the road. Easy, there. Turn around…

 

Maybe the stern tone manages to mask how heavy his tongue feels. Maybe not. His calm is pure mask right in this moment, he knows he’s slipping harder and harder, feels it in his limbs–

 

“Hal? Who else could be behind us?”

Dave takes a deep breath, wanting more than anything to steady himself. “They… might have disbanded.”

He rubs at his eyes, doing his best to control the bitterness, the swaying.Useless. Some hero you are. Adds: “They aren’t CIA. It’s– not their MO.”

 

Starting the car again, he turns to Hal. And if he looks like he’s holding onto the wheel more than controlling it, it’s just– “Any idea of who they are?”

 

Get the car in the road. Easy, there. Turn around…

 

Maybe the stern tone manages to mask how heavy his tongue feels. Maybe not. His calm is pure mask right in this moment, he knows he’s slipping harder and harder, feels it in his limbs–

 

“Hal? Who else could be behind us?”

 

Hal steadies himself against the passenger side door as the car turns quickly in the street, wincing at the squealing sound of the tires. Thirty minutes til they were back in the city. Twenty if Dave doesn’t slow down. _Please_ let him slow down. Twenty minutes to figure out who has come after them and why and what their most likely plan of attack would be and how to avoid it. And Hal had simply said,

“Okay.”

 

“Oh… god I don’t know um….” _Think Hal, that’s what you’re here for, isn’t it? Dave handles the security and “heavy lifting” and you map out the cities, secure cash for your next…_

 

“Shit.”

 

He’d been careful, he really had. But being cautious took time which wasn’t something they always had. He’d chosen targets carefully,laundered accounts with no activity in the last six months, siphoning money off slowly as to not be noticed, and as far as he knew no one ever had…

 

But maybe he’d just been naive. Wouldn’t be the first time, Hal. Maybe they’ve just been biding their time, watching, waiting for a mistake. Following the threads back to them until…

 

…well until just a few moments ago when they broke down the door.

 

“…Dave… I’m… I’m sorry…It’s all my fault.”

 

_Does Hal have his seatbelt on?_

 

Desperate, he straightens up in the seat, paws loosely at his own seatbelt with a hand…

 

_Does he?_

 

Can’t slow down now. It’s just a matter of time and they need to get back before he– But no, they’re not CIA, he can recognize those guns by sound, they are– Oh.

 

How petty and how useless a consolation, to know he isn’t the only one who fucked up tonight.  It’s not going to help them stay alive. It does give them a chance to get to the apartment, if they’re looking for their car…

 

And then, he needs to take a detour. Get back from another side– It’s a risk, it’ll be longer, but. He takes the 61 instead of the 17. There’s no shortage of streets back if they go through the entrance at Arthur St.

 

“Explain yourself”, he growls, because he needs all the stimuli he can get right now, struggling–

 

– struggling to stay awake.

 

Hal buries his face in his hands, glasses pressing hard against his face. He can’t look at Dave now, for a number of reasons. He breathes deeply, once, twice- trying to find the the courage to admit just how hard he’s screwed up this time.

 

“It was me, they… they followed a trail I left. I’m not sure who exactly- but it’s someone we’ve been taking money from which means they’re not at all worried about breaking the law.” His fingers slid upward, raking at his hair as he pulled it back in twisted handfuls. “Hell, the people shooting at us- that’s probably the entirety of their job description. Fuck up the people who steal from their employers, make sure it doesn’t happen again. Shit!”

 

This is how it all ends, then. He’s finally fucked up enough to end his life and Dave’s, made the same stupid mistake that got them into this in the first place. No, got _him_ into this. Dave had chosen to help him flee because… well shit, he had no idea really, but whatever his plan had been it surely didn’t involve resting his hopes with a screw-up like Hal.

 

It’s just as well that the car swerves around a sharp turn. Hal can pretend he’s just shocked instead of trying to suppress a sob.

 

Dave doesn’t find it in him to be angry at Hal.

 

It’d be just… so fucking easy to scream and let out the heaps of positively frothing bloodlust he has curdling inside at such a convenient target. But– he can’t.

 

Bitterly, he admits, “Can’t deal with this now.”

 

It’s he who should have been in a decent condition to deal with this attack. That’s his job. Can’t be angry at Hal if he provided for them– and then it’s he who can’t keep his side of the deal.

… Hell, he can’t even hold onto the wheel properly. He grasps at it, and his knuckles go white and…

 

“I’m–”

 

_I’m way too drunk to deal with this. At all._

 

… There’s someone following them. His instincts, even now–

 

But there’s no need for instincts half a second later when they start shooting at their car. “Hal!”

 

_They found us._

_Can’t do anything beyond slam on the gas and hope to lose them._

 

Dave takes a violent turn, and it doesn’t even matter where to.

 

Hal screams… or keeps screaming- as they careen over the river bank, spend a few moments in slow motion in the air before crashing down into the icy water. A freezing cascade hits him immediately in the face and chest, windshield crumbling uselessly under its force. He can’t think, can’t remember what to do, can only gasp for air frantically, uselessly tell his body to hold on to each lungful as he starts shaking.

 

It’s one of those funny movie facts- he thinks for an instant. The car drives over a bridge, into the water; you’re supposed to let it fill with water- equalize the pressure inside and out before you can open the door. Fight your instincts to panic and make sure to take a deep breath before swimming outside.

_Well, at least we don’t have to wait for that._

 

His hands slam against his body, fingers searching for the buckle at his waist before jamming down tightly to release it, just as he feels a sudden lurch and knows they’re completely submerged. He has only a few seconds to think, and he’s not sure he’s truly capable but he knows Dave isn’t and hell admitting that to himself is so hard.

 

Dave is going to kill him. One way or another. The least Hal can do is make it easy for him, he thinks as he fights his every urge and throws his head into the water, to scramble at the floorboards, fingers wrapping around cold metal which he quickly shoves into his bag.

 

He can’t see anything but he should be feeling _something,_ anything next to him. Dave, as big as he is should be making a break for it, finding his own way out of  the car and Hal should be able to feel that through the water, if nothing else but he doesn’t. There’s just the dark and the water and he hopes he’s wrong about this but when he reaches over his worst fears are confirmed.

 

_He’s dead. He’s fucking dead. We’re both dead but he’s gone ahead and gone first and fuck. Fuck._

 

His fingers are already numb from the cold, he can’t feel his feet and legs and fuck Dave isn’t moving. He wraps his arms around him, pulls once, twice without any luck before searching his body for the damn buckle that has either saved his life or fucked them both, and soon Dave’s body drifts into his arms.

 

Chest shuddering with panic and cold, he starts scrambling towards the windshield, forces himself to pause long enough to take a lungful of the quickly vanishing air and pushes them both out into the black.

 

The impact rattles him inside out and then everything just– feels cold, cold, cold.

 

Can’t move, and there are bright spots dancing before his eyes, impeding his vision. Distantly, he knows he should be moving. Only 30 seconds to escape a sinking vehicle, isn’t it? Like in his training.

 

So very distantly, he knows what he should  be doing.

 

His arms aren’t responding to free him for his seatbelt, and while he still struggles… he hasn’t been properly conscious in so long. And he can’t move.

 

So why is he–?

 

Something is dragging him outside. And he may have not a lot strength left but… he clings to it.

 

Clings to him.

 

Hal’s a good swimmer.

 

That’s the terrible irony, the joke in it all, the punchline to his stupid, worthless life. Hal Emmerich- who panics over bridges, keeps his distance from the shoreline, who dreams of drowning- he’s actually strong in the water, almost graceful. In his element, as it were.

 

Of course there’s nobody around to see, Hal can’t even see a thing, can barely sense which way is up, has to force himself to stay still, allow himself to drift ever so slightly before redoubling his efforts, kicking forcefully, cursing inwardly ever so slightly every time his legs hit against Dave’s which are just sort of… there.

 

His arms are wrapped tightly around his chest and he can’t tell if he’s conscious, can’t tell if he’s holding on to him- can’t waste a moment to think about anything but reaching the surface, can’t spend any time wanting anything besides the

-air.

 

Hal gasps, chokes and sputters as his head bobs above the surface and it takes him a moment to regain control, to pull Dave up just a few more inches, level with himself. He doesn’t hear gunfire, doesn’t hear anything, really beyond the rushing of water pushing them steadily down river.

 

He manages to turn his head, looks over Dave’s shoulder, sees the bank they came from, where the trains and their pursuers wait in the dark. Not an option, he’s got to make it to the other side, even if it is an impossible distance away.

 

They aren’t going to make it. With his grip slipping around Dave, the two of them being plunged underwater by the freezing current, he _knows_ they aren’t going to make it. Limbs weary, body frozen, he knows it’s all in vain. When he drags Dave onto the bank, digs his fingers into his chest, pulls him out of the water with every last remaining bit of his strength he knows it’s a waste of time.

 

But even though it’s a waste, he can’t stop himself from pumping at his chest, breathing into his frozen lips, the way he was taught the same week his sister came to live with them. It didn’t do any good back then. It’s not going to do any good now, he knows.

 

But god, he has to try.

 

If Dave were to say he thinks about any of this in a conscious, orderly way, it’d be a lie. He is far too gone, alcohol muddling his neurotransmitters before the impact pushed him right on the border between consciousness and void.

 

There’s no poetry in the way he clings to Hal (because indeed it’s him, who else could it have been?) as an act of survival, with whatever strength he has, despite the freezing tide. Probably knowing on some level he should just let go, lest they drown together.

 

He feels the lack of oxygen, the river mouth choking the life out of him until he can’t keep on coughing it out.

 

He can’t see, vision blurred to the point of blackout.

 

He can’t hear anything beyond the whirlpool of waves toying with them, submerging them at a times, a torrent so strong…

 

… He perceives the hard, rocky shore under him.

 

And everything keeps on happening as if it were to anyone else, because he isn’t there, at all. The distant, panicked pumping of Hal’s hands over somebody’s chest, his desperate attempts to make that person breathe, end up with David twisting violently to get on his side and throw up what feels like half the bay and all the bile and leftover whiskey he still hadn’t absorbed. Choking and hacking out water until his lungs feel like fire.

 

Eyes like glass beads, and barely awake, he still is grasping Hal’s shirt when he takes the first gasp of unobstructed air.

 

Far away, the sound of a ship horn precedes the waves now smashing against the shore and licking them both. A car, somewhere, careens off and they’re left in silence.

 

It’s 2 am - The first tanker of the Petroleum Bulk Station has already started its round, surrounded by the mid-shore patrol vessels.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After escaping their would-be executioners, Dave and Hal find themselves on the fast track to... somewhere. But how do you take the next step when you don't have a plan?

Hal draws back suddenly as he feels the unexpected lurch of Dave’s body beneath him. He catches the taste of the river’s water in his mouth, unavoidable, really- and it doesn’t matter because he’s awake, he’s breathing, somehow against all reason the two of them are _alive._

 

He falls forward as Dave grasps him, drags him down nearly to the ground.

 

“Dave…” he whimpers, shoulders shaking as he lets loose the tears he no longer has the energy to hide. His face is burning despite the freezing air, exertion, relief and… anger all finally taking over. He pulls himself upward, looks down at the still convulsing body of the only person in the world he’s still connected to in any meaningful way, and slams his fists into the damp soil beside him.

 

He doesn’t know if Dave can hear him, but he can’t keep silent any longer, even if it’s just to whisper.

_“You said you wouldn’t leave me alone.”_

Dave is gasping, coughing still, but _breathing._ His thoughts still way too incoherent for him to do anything but reel at the accusatory tone, feeling it click with the layers and layers of guilt he has been carrying around since _forever._ If Hal wants to hit _him_ instead of the soil, it’s not as though he’ll do jackshit to prevent it.

_You deserve this._

 

With an instinctive honesty, he rasps, “I’m sorry”.

 

Dave has the knowledge, somewhere in the parts of his brain that aren’t alight with sheer survival, that they shouldn’t stay here. That this _shouldn’t_ be too much for him, the purebred survivor raised for maximum efficiency. _He has abandoned friends and killed_ _family_ to stay alive, before.

 

He has been reaching his limit for a while now. It shows in how it’s still hard for him to move now, do anything but hold onto Hal’s shirt as the lifeline it is.

 

Dave’s apology echoes for what seems like ages. The words of a man who knows full well of his wrong-doings and accepts responsibility and incidentally is the man on whom Hal depends for his very survival on a daily basis. Hal experiences a moment of betrayal in their truth. He’s placed his trust, the whole of his belief in this man who has turned out to be imperfect, broken.

 

And hell  if he can stop now.

 

“Come on,” he urges quietly, wrapping his arms around him and coaxing him upward. “We can’t stay here.”

 

He moves carefully, mindful of the fact that Dave is still regaining his breath, is slow to react, can barely move. If the experience has dulled the man’s senses, they have only heightened Hal’s, heart beating at a frantic pace, eyes darting to scan the landscape for potential shelter. He’s spent a lifetime afraid, gotten used to it, even. So he does what he always does, what he has always done when consumed by fear.

 

He runs. He hides.

 

He takes Dave with him.

\---

How could he _not_ accept his share of the responsibility here?

 

He had known from the beginning, there would be a day where Hal would stop thinking of him as a hero, see him for the drop-out failure he was. Had even counted on it, even when that time back at Landon’s Bay hadn’t been enough, to say nothing of David’s own daily harshness, or the months of uneasy cohabitation bringing them closer in their partnership for survival.

 

In light of how he preferred to _not_ talk about himself and the many regrets haunting him, Dave never _wanted_ Hal to put him on a pedestal as he had. But, he just– never planned for him to have it demolished this way - disastrous, _uncontrolled,_ amidst a life-or-death situation where David’s ghosts almost got them killed. Nevermind what Hal himself had done to attract the heat onto them. He should have–

 

Barely able to stand, half drowned and concussed and _still drunk,_ he regains agency little by little. Enough for leftover adrenaline do his job, bringing him back to awareness, and for Hal to lead him without resorting to _dragging him_ , and for not making it worse despite how much gravity reclaimed him.

 

Hal has no time, no time to think about Dave as anything other than a part of his every step, another factor of the challenge in his mind that involves getting them to safety. He’s shivering as he pulls Dave along, taking in little heat from the body at his side and he knows that whatever the first step is, it had better involve getting out of the freezing air, or there won’t be a second.

 

They’re still by the train yard, tracks dominating the town and outlying islands, it’s one of the main features of the town, and one they’d discussed making use of in an emergency. Hal edges closer and closer to the nearest row of cars, all covered in careless graffiti.

 

Heart still pounding, arms weary, he has no choice but to lean Dave against one of the cars before taking off, running and praying he finds one that’s open. It takes a few minutes but luck is on their side _ought to go buy a lottery ticket with the way your luck has been, Hal_ and soon he’s unlatched a door and dragged it open, back and shoulders screaming in protest.

 

“You’re going to have to help me out here, I can’t lift you,” he says, coaxing Dave to the open door.

 

“–’s alright”, he mutters, and his whole world may still be spinning, but if he _can_ limp well enough to follow Hal… he can heave himself up the border of the chosen car.

_Useless. So fucking useless._

 

How the hell did Hal manage to find them this anyway? An open car seems like a miracle. He scans it, seeing sack upon sack of flour arranged in piles, and there’s something in him rooted deep enough to tell him _where_ to crash amidst them, to not be seen… or get crushed to death if the train were to make a sudden stop, sending them tumbling all over.

_And he saved your life anyway._

 

He does well in small spaces. And he calls for Hal, because, if they stay huddled together– that’s going to maximize body heat, and lessen the chances for them to get found.

 

“Close that… and come here.”

_Now you’re even, aren’t you?_

 

Curled up against the flour sacks, shivering... He feels like he is about to fall unconscious again, so easily. He is still struggling and yet–

 

But no, this isn’t about ‘getting even’. No matter how convenient their arrangement may have seemed in the beginning - a technician and a soldier against the world, imrpoving their chances staying together so one’s strengths could prop up the weaknesses of the other… it was never about that.

 

Hal shouts as he slams the car door shut, falling over with the force. It’s pitch black inside, and he has to fumble around, slide his hands over coarse fabric and follow the sound of Dave’s voice.

 

The soles of his sneakers are slick with mud and he nearly trips and tumbles right onto Dave, catching himself just in time. He slides down to find a place at his side, in between his body and the stiff wall of flour and grain. He gives the bags an experimental push and is surprised at how unrelenting they are, almost like stone. Hal sneezes, either from the cold or the dust in the air and tries to make the best of the situation before he starts feeling the damp of his clothing seeping into the burlap at his side.

 

He sighs, curses slightly under his breath and forces his shivering arms away from his body long enough to peel the soaking shirt from his chest.

 

Meanwhile Dave is toeing off his shoes the best way he can, body wrecked by shudders and working in a setting not unlike auto-pilot.

 

He knows he shouldn’t stay with his wet clothes on - a recipe for hypothermia if there’s one. But his energies are failing him, and he is feeling like consciousness is getting harder and harder to keep a grasp of again. It’s not like it’s the first time, but the idea that a normal human being wouldn’t have been able to survive as much as he had–

 

Muttering a sound of distress, he fights to take off his own shirt, and curls up closer to the nearest focus of heat, not even minding if he ends up all Hal’s personal space. It’s not the worst thing he has done this night.

 

Maybe if he sleeps this off…

 

Hal hisses sharply as Dave’s cold, wet, and still fully clothed body leans up against him. He sighs, completely beyond his abilities to handle the situation, having moved past terror and anxiety into something that feels suspiciously like… _annoyance_. He huffs, rubs his own arms frantically for a moment before leaning over and pulling Dave’s shirt from him,

 

He tries not to think about it, there’s nothing to think about really- as he tugs the sopping wet denim from his legs, socks from both their feet, and slings the lot over the side of their makeshift wall. With any luck they’ll have dried out a little by morning, which is probably much closer than Hal wants to admit right now.

 

If what Hal is feeling is _annoyance,_ that surely has to mean they’re heading for a better territory than “outright panic”. It could even mean they won’t kill each other, once Dave wakes up.

 

Before he can lie back down, Hal has to make an effort to raise his body temperature, and stands uneasily, trying to jog in place, stretch, pump his arms in the air, anything to help keep his blood pumping. Finally satisfied he bends back down, finds Dave with searching hands and pulls him to his body, hoping it will be enough.

 

 

Grateful for having his shirt pulled off him, Dave just _cuddles_ closer, once Hal is back from his stretches. It’s probably not comfortable at all, to have a cold heap of drunk and concussed human male practically draped all over him. But it _is_ survival. Even now, amidst rows of flour sacks, the best chances of staying alive and healthy they have is to stave off the cold and to share whatever body heat they can muster between the two of them.

 

“Your feet are fucking freezing.”

 

A guard comes, taking a cursory look at their car without discovering their presence. The train starts moving, somehow unalerted to their existence there as as stowaways, leaving Thunder Bay behind. Only god knows where their next stop will be.

 

Morning can’t come soon enough.

 

Hal stirs first, never a heavy sleeper and fantastically uncomfortable besides. Every part of him aches and his arm is numb- from the weight of Dave’s body and not the cold, he realizes thankfully. It’s not warm, in their tiny pocket between the flour sacks- not by any means, but he can at least feel every part of his body, can still make out every last nerve, screaming at him in agony. He’s alive, if not well- and the faint rise and fall of Dave’s chest indicates that he too has made it through the night.

 

Thin slivers of light stream in through the top of the car, and the rhythmic rattle of the tracks tells Hal they’ve been moving for some time. He has no idea where the final destination of the freight train may be, but if their luck holds (if this can be called anything remotely like luck)- it won’t be too far from one of the safe houses he and Dave had set up in neighboring cities.

 

He rolls his head over to look at his partner, still slack jawed and pressed tightly against him and sighed. What exactly had happened last night? The men, the guns he understood. But Dave… why had he…?

 

Hal isn’t stupid. He knows Dave drinks- more than he should, honestly. But after _that_ night… he grimaces to think about it… he’d never felt right saying anything. Besides, it seemed like the man had an increased tolerance, or…something. And it hadn’t ever impacted their day to day survival in the past… _until, of course, you know… it did._

 

He growls low in frustration. Dammit. They are going to have to talk about it, aren’t they? This… this had nearly killed them- still might, they aren’t out of danger yet. If they make it to safety somehow, they can’t count on being so lucky again.

 

The train horn blasts, spurring Hal to follow its lead as he nudges Dave to the side in an effort to wake him.

 

“Hey. Dave. Wake up.” He steadies his breaths. “We need to talk.”

 

The train horn wakes him up before Hal does, and yet, he only moves after he is addressed.

 

Permanent, hermetic silence about his inner world notwithstanding, Dave wouldn’t have described himself as _avoidant_ before. And now he is having to quickly reassess that judgement, when the idea of _having to talk_ about this makes him feel worse than his hangover.

 

He is used to those, after all. Shrugs them off in such a way Hal was never _worried_ about his habits before.

 

“Alright”, he grunts in agreement, after a pause. Guilt is quick to seep back into him.

 

He takes a deep breath and stands up to stretch. He had taken one hell of a beating last night and he reckons Hal might actually… not be much better off.

 

There are a lot of words hanging on the tip of his tongue right now. _‘Are you ok?’, ‘Thank you for saving my life’, ‘I’m sorry’._ It’s almost a relief that it’s too dark for them to see each other.

 

“We… will talk.” He exhales, in the end. “Just… let’s get out of this train first. Gotta know where we ended up.”

 

It’s not avoidance if it has an actual, practical purpose.

 

Hal rolls over as  Dave withdraws, stands up next to him, and groans as he pumps his arm in an attempt to regain feeling. Is… is he fine? After being shot at, crashing a car, nearly drowning, and spending the night in  train car is Dave somehow alright? It’s practically insulting, but Hal has little time to spend being offended.

 

“You’re a beast…” he mumbles under his breath, but stands quickly and begins searching for his clothing. It’s still damp, but it’s not like they have much of a choice.

 

“We’ve been out at least five hours, no stops as far as I’ve been able to tell, but I’ve been asleep pretty much the whole time.” He squints, trying to force his memory to cooperate. “Odds are we either went West or to the Northeast. God, just tell me we didn’t go South. Ending up back in the States right now… that’d be just about perfect, right?”  He sighs.

 

“You’re about to show me how to jump from a moving vehicle, aren’t you?” He adds warily.

 

“No”, Dave answers. Better to be blunt. “I think both of us had enough of acrobatics last night.”

 

He stretches again, carefully, evaluating his range of movement. “You cracked my ribs while saving my life back at the river. I don’t feel in a position to complain, but I think it’s poor taste to repay you making you jump off here.”

 

Hal blinks rapidly, eyes still adjusting to the scant light available in the car. “Right, of course,” he said softly, frowning slightly. Was Dave implying somehow that it was his fau-

 

-oh. No. Quite the reverse. That… might take some getting used to.

 

Their train car is still dark enough to make it hard to see, but light is filtering off the junctures of the sliding door, the closed skylight in the ceiling. It’s giving him an idea.

 

Physical pain is easy to deal with, and as long as he keeps moving, he won’t have to stew in his own guilt.

 

“I’m going to take a look so we can know if it’s even going to be _safe_ to get outta here at the first stop we have.”

 

 

He struggles to make his way over the rows of cargo, feeling more than seeing his way to the door. If Dave is correct about his ribs- and there’s every reason to believe he is, then straining to open heavy metal doors is the last thing his body needs.

_Congratulations Hal, you just became the muscle of the team. Let’s see how long that lasts. Maybe for our next act, Dave can hack himself into a hospital bed for the next two weeks._

 

Tired, body still weary from the night before, he’s only able to push it open a few feet before stumbling forward, falling to his knees in a pile. “It’s just…trees.”

 

… Dave interrupts his scheduled climbing over flour sacks at the sound of Hal opening the boxcar’s door. His fault, if he had been so slow.

 

“Don’t strain yourself like that.”

 

Carefully, he climbs down. No need to open the hatch of that skylight, then. He just wants to take a peek outside, not jump out of the train, and for that, the few feet Hal managed to open would suffice.

 

“Way too many trees and water ponds for this to be Minnesota”, he declares, and closes the door. His ribs protest in response, but there’s not a lot he can do about it, beyond clenching his teeth and bearing with it. More than five hours on a train going South would’ve replaced the forests out there with prairies long ago. Northwards, with tundra.

 

“Still in Canada. And apparently going West.”

 

… Do they even have _anything_ more or less ready around there? Because it’s seeming more and more likely they’re headed for Winnipeg, and he is pretty sure they… don’t. They have had good reason to stay away from major cities.

 

Sympathy pain fills Hal as he takes in the grimace on Dave’s face in the scant seconds before he slams the door closed.

 

 

“We’ve got a place in Kenora that’s probably habitable, but I’m thinking we may be way past that. That leaves Winnipeg.” He rubs his temples, tries to think. It had been Dave’s idea to set up multiple safe houses, as many and as far reaching as their funds would allow. It wasn’t the sort of thing that would have occurred to Hal, and it was exactly that kind of thinking was likely the only reason they’d made it as long as they had.

 

“Okay,” he said at last, memories coming to the surface. “The good news is, we have a place. The bad news is- that’s pretty much all we have. I- I think it’s a one room,” he fought to recall, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “But I hadn’t made much headway as far as furnishings go.” It was always slow, doing things remotely, but Hal supposed he should be glad that they’d at least have a roof over their heads.

 

Dave takes in all of this, and like with pain, there’s not much he can do to stave off the sheer _bitterness._

 

He indeed is grateful for the small miracle of actually having a roof over their heads, but there’s no telling to how much they lost when he decided to pull that little stunt. Realistically speaking, having one of their “sponsors” tracking them was always a distinct possibility - which was why he had disliked it so much, when Hal had started hacking for profit. No matter how good he was at it.

 

But in the end, he had accepted it as a source of additional income. Because… he was supposed to deal with the consequences, if and when they came.

 

Kenora would have been a safer, better bet. But getting there _now…_ With no money, and the state both of them were in? Unlikely.

 

His voice feels flat, toneless, “We’re going to be stranded there for a while, huh.”

 

A sigh, and then, “We shouldn’t be far off the city, but there is more than just one train yard for freights like this. Tell me about where the safehouse is, so we can plan how to get there.”

 

Careful, he traces his steps back and recovers his shirt. He… needs to sit down, as much as he hates to admit it.

 

Hal runs his fingers through his hair, still cold and damp as he does his best to remember exactly what their situation is. He was always careful when choosing a location, something out of the way, but still accessible, secure and cheap, because they never knew when things might fall apart. Clearly.

 

“All right. The good news is, I originally thought we might end up using the trains somehow if we ever came here, although, maybe not quite like this,” he sighs. “There’s three main train stations in town, and the apartment is within two to three miles of each of them. Worst case scenario, we have to cross a bridge over the river, but we have a two out of three shot of being on the same side.”

 

He pops the muscles in his neck, mind responding more readily as time passed. “Lenore…. Lenola… something like that. G—Grey street.” He shakes his head. “Can’t remember much more. I hadn’t studied it too closely, thought we’d have more time before heading this way.” He coughs, throat somehow dry after everything. “If we can get off the train as soon as it stops, we ought to be okay.”

 

Dave listens attentively, and nods. All in all, it sounds like they have a good shot at getting there in one piece, despite the worrying sounds of realigning muscle and dry coughing coming from Hal. “As long as you _do_ know the way…”, he mutters, because… The last thing they need is getting lost in Winnipeg. But he has to trust Hal.

 

His trusting Hal, in the end, has been less disastrous than Hal trusting him.

 

They sit in there in silence, with no way to measure time, until the train comes to a stop.

 

Amidst the stress and physical pain, the way they slip out of the boxcar, and into the city; it’s all a blur. Nobody notices them, sliding unseen past the guards and the security at the entrance of the train yard - with Dave leading the way. He’s grim when he realizes that’s the closest thing to an infiltration he has done in years and unable to find any joy in it.

 

Fall had come early to Winnipeg and the day outside isn’t much warmer or less humid than inside that car.

 

Dave discovers 20 Canadian dollars trapped in the smallest pocket of his jeans, Hal’s duffle the sole other item of their inventory. He hands them over with no comment, knowing they’ll need to get some food in their system some time soon, despite the heavy weight of anxiety twisting in his stomach.

 

They walk. They go through the saddest neighborhood Dave has seen in a while. They retrieve a key from a PO box, and head north until they find a four-story apartment building sticking out like a sore thumb amidst the dilapidated houses.

 

“Home, I guess”, he mutters. And he isn’t being all that facetious. Right now… he just wants to lay down someplace where it’s not moving, or freezing, with a roof over his head.

 

The door slams behind them with a dismal “thunk”, like an iron bell. For a brief moment, everything is dark until Hal’s probing fingers locate the light switch, throwing a gloomy, flickering glow over the tiny one-room apartment.

“Mm.”  He exhales loudly as he looked around the nearly empty room. There is a bare mattress in one corner with a folded blanket thrown on top of it, and to his right was a small counter that served as a kitchenette, and a small cardboard box with the word “KITCHEN” scrawled on it hastily in marker.

 

And… that is it.

 

He turnsto look back to Dave. “Yeah. Home.”

 

First thing’s first. Electricity is accounted for, more or less. He runs to the faucet and is pleased to find the water running, doesn’t wait before gulping down messy handfuls. It feels warm to the touch, but that likely has more to do with his own frigid body temperature. It’s been too many hours for both of them in wet clothes.

 

He leans over, supporting himself on the sink, breathing strained, back and shoulders aching.

 

“I can’t do this right now, Dave. I… I’m so damn tired.”

 

“What do you need”, Dave asks, quietly. And it’s an honest question.

 

He isn’t sure he feels up for it, either.

 

The apartment is bare, and he is used to bare. It wouldn’t bother him as much as it probably bothers Hal, but… No privacy. It isn’t an issue of _shyness_ \- there is literally no way to get away from each other, except by going out.

 

Cabin fever is going to kill them before actual illness had a chance. It’s not a comforting idea.

 

“Just… sleep, please.” Hal asks quietly, not capable of much more. “I…I know we don’t have alarms set up or… or anything but god I’m so tired. Please.”

 

He takes two steps towards the mattress, looks pleadingly at Dave, a silent request as he begins undressing again.Things might not look better after a few hours of sleep, but at least they’ll be… clearer.

 

There is a faint groan of tired springs as he falls to his knees on top of what will serve as their bed for the foreseeable future. Hal makes a faint sound as well, more of a whimper than anything else. He’s so cold, and tired, and the fact of the matter is their next step rests solely on his shoulders. It’s more than he can deal with right now. So he simply lets himself fall, decides that for now, he’s content to give up.

 

“Dave…” he mumbles, face flat in the mattress, hand searching half-heartedly for the blanket. “Just… sleep. There’s nothing either of us can do right now. Sleep.”

 

He… yields.

 

“Alright”, Dave mutters, a soft exhalation escaping him. He kneels by the mattress, hands Hal the blanket. He is tired too, and his wet clothes stick uncomfortably to his skin, bringing in a chill that makes his ribs beat with the dull ache of it . Still, he won’t get closer.

 

“I’ll… be over there. Give you space.”

 

He should, probably, be attempting to get them food. But he can’t leave Hal alone, not without an alarm system. He’ll… do the first shift of standing guard, then. Like they used to.

 

There’s a soft rustling and all of a sudden Hal’s hand is around his wrist.

 

“Dave. _No._ ”

 

He groans, not ready for an argument, but doing his best to mentally prepare for the inevitable.

 

“Look, nobody knows we’re here. _I_ barely know we’re here.” He sighs, turning to his side to look up at Dave. “W-whatever is coming next, I can’t do it alone, I’m going to need your help. So for now, what I need- is for you to _rest._ ”

 

He releases his grip, feather light as it is and turns over to face the wall. “I don’t care about ‘space’, I’m just cold. And tired. And I know you are too. Go to sleep, Dave.” He grows quiet for a moment before adding, “And take off those wet clothes before you get sick.”

 

“At your command, then”, he answers, but the acid in his voice is half-hearted, and mostly for show.

 

It’s surprising for Dave to realize he means it. He… is not going to argue about this. Doesn’t have the energy to, but that is not the only reason.

 

Besides… it’s extremely rare that Hal dares to talk to him in such a _direct_ way. And he knows he deserves Hal’s anger. At least they won’t have to have the dreaded conversation just yet, and that suits him. Such close quarters, and no way to escape from each other…

 

He takes off his clothes, leaving only his boxers, and slips under the blanket. Hal is freezing… and so is he. But he is way too done to dwell on it. They’ll get warm together. With no heater in the apartment they have little choice.

 

He is, additionally, far and away too tired to remember the last time they had slept so close together.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a much needed rest, the two finally have the chance to think and talk- although the only way for Hal to get Dave to open up about his past may be to make an offering of his own.

Hal wakes to find his body tightly curled in on itself, arms wrapped tightly around his chest, head bowed in an attempt to conserve heat. He’s unsurprised to find himself pressed up against Dave’s body, both of them benefiting from each other’s body heat. Several hours have passed, sun giving up the last of its light through their tiny window. He’s still sore, still aches, but at least now he can _think._

 

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, doesn’t even bother with keeping his eyes open as he slowly begins to process the events of the last twenty-four hours.

 

They’d been found out, almost assuredly due to his own mistakes. Siphoning money from other people’s illegal accounts wasn’t going to be an option now, possibly not ever again- which meant they were going to have to rely on more customary means of income. And Dave, with his broken ribs wasn’t going to be in a good position for manual labor. In all honesty he should be in a hospital bed right now, not crammed on a single mattress on the floor of a dingy apartment.

 

 

What the hell had happened with Dave? Maybe they hadn’t known each other that long, a few months in close quarters- but he _though_ t he had begun to understand the man. He was learning the extent of the skills he possessed, the way he thought, hell, sometimes he even dared to think he was getting used to his sense of humor. And if Dave drank a bit, well he’d never thought much of it because _they were on the run from the fucking CIA_ and that kind of thing tended to stress a person out.

 

But last night… that was something else. Dave had been absolutely shit-faced in the privacy of his own room, then behind the wheel- and Hal… Hal had gone along with it. And it had nearly killed them both. This was as much his fault as anyone’s. More, probably.

 

They are going to have to talk about it, but now Hal finds himself fighting a losing war against the demands of his body, stomach growling loudly in the silence of the room.

 

Dave wakes up before Hal does, still laying on his back. Not the best position for warmth preservation, and now– a little less than 18 hours since he got his ribs broken, and after his nap, his mind and body have finally stopped running on overdrive.

 

That means he is in pain.

 

He is in pain, stranded, and hungry. No access to any kind of external stimuli to help him tough it out. _Like hell he is going to go out for a walk._

 

He is observant, though. Enough to notice the change in the rhythm of his bedmate’s breathing, and for that to make him wary in return when Hal doesn’t even stir.

 

 

For being bedridden, Dave still _feels_ like he’s running.And right now, he is as tired of it as he can be… yet unsure if he can stop. “Hal?”

 

_Come on._

 

“See if you have the M9 in your duffel. If you have it… Take it, and go feed yourself. It’s not like I’m going to move from here.”

 

 

There is a deep breath, a protest of springs as Hal rolls over and pulls himself up, allowing the blanket to drop around his hips. He hisses at the sudden burst of cold, rubbing at his arms briskly to try and maintain the heat. Food sounds good, even if he can barely bring himself to move from the only warm spot in the apartment.

 

“Yeah, okay.” He says, not having the energy to argue.

 

He draws himself up slowly, puts on his clothes, still cool but no longer excessively damp and rummages through his bag. He grimaces at the sight of the laptop case, hoping it would live up to everything its advertisement had promised, but decides to deal with it later. He sees the gun at the bottom of the bag, and glances back at Dave.

 

“Must have lost it in the river,” he says quietly, zipping the bag in one fluid motion.

 

He peeks in the cardboard box on their lone counter and takes note of the two pans and electric kettle. He should be happy for small favors, he muses. It would be tempting to just run out and grab a hamburger or five, he knows their money is extremely limited.

 

He stuffs the key and the lone twenty Dave had handed him deep into his pocket as he heads for the door.

 

“I’ll be back soon.”

 

Thirty minutes later, Hal is standing in the doorway again, emptying the small paper bag of groceries on the counter. He applauds himself on having the mindfulness to buy cans of soup with pop-top lids, and soon he’s stirring a pot of chicken noodle over the finicky burner. The electric kettle makes itself known and he slowly edges his way over to the edge of the mattress where Dave is still lying quietly. “Soup and tea,” he says, setting the cups down on the floor. “If you think you can manage.”

 

“I’m not going to die of broken ribs”, he grunts, before he can stop himself. Regret hits like the proverbial ton of bricks, and he adds immediately,“… Sorry.”

 

It’s not as hard to say now as it was at the beginning of their relationship and still… they had been the first words he had uttered since Hal had gone out, unprotected, to get something to eat. It still comes as a surprise that had come back with something for _both of them,_ but why? They had been sharing space since last May, and that included their meals. They… usually enjoyed each other’s company, despite the distance caused by how different they were. And they... took care of each other.

 

Had David feared that was going to change?

 

“Thanks for dinner”. He can’t help the wincing when he sits, fanning his irritation., but he grabs the cup of soup first, blows at the steam rising from it, the smell of fat and salt making his stomach growl.

 

They are stranded, broke and outgunned, and he needs to calm down.

 

Bitter, he affixes his stare on the wall. The atmosphere has a heavy fog of prelude to it, and it’s hard to breathe.

 

Hal sits cross-legged a foot away from the mattress, his own soup clutched tightly in his hands as he’s determined to glean every last ounce of warmth from it. He doesn’t even blow over the top, instead holds it just below his face, letting the steam fog his glasses. It might be easier this way, if he can’t see him…

_You wanted time to think Hal, so_ **_think._ **

 

His mind races as he tries to put together a picture. That first week in the cabin they’d broken into and that night they’d both never spoken of again. The bottles he saw out of the corner of his eye, but tried not to think about. Dave screaming in his face, enraged.

 

He’d thought they were friends of a sort. They got along okay, in spite of their wildly different personalities and tastes. For the most part they complemented each other, even. They were… partners, weren’t they?

 

But maybe none of that had been real. Maybe this whole time he wasn’t really talking to the “real” Dave at all. Maybe…

 

…maybe the “real” Dave was the one he could still remember all too clearly, screaming at him from just inches away.

 

His shoulders tense as his grip tightens around the cup, and he slowly brings it to his lips, uncaring of the way its contents burn the tip of his tongue.

 

“Dave…?” He asks, uncertain about everything that’s happened, about what’s going to happen, “…can we talk?”

 

“It’s what I promised, isn’t it”, he replies, but then falls silent. There’s a rush of water voiding all other sound in his ears, and he just… stares at the wall.

 

He feels as if he isn’t there, but that– is alright, honestly, because he doesn’t want to be.

 

He sips at his soup, carefully. It still burns a little bit, but even that is good. Grounding, in a way that distracts his mind from the fissures on his bones, tightening his chest.

 

The thing is, Dave _is observant_ , and there’s a hint of desolation permeating through Hal’s tone that...

 

Well, while the evident, unbridled rancour of Master Miller, whenever he talked about brothers-in-arms and deceit, didn’t mesh with most of his other teachings - Dave finally thinks he understands it a little bit better.

 

Compartmentalization was one thing. But this was another entirely… keeping to himself what was crucial intel for completion of a mission, willingly leaving his partner in the line of fire. Last night had been a crash course on the consequences.

 

It was just– His personal business wouldn’t have normally fit the definition of _‘crucial intel’._ And Dave, he swallows soup to keep down the bile on his throat, because if there’s one thing he _loathes_ , is to talk about personal business.

 

“Tell me what you want to know”, he says, slow and careful, the very picture of calm. “Because hell if I know where to start.”

 

What does he say to that? What can he possibly say? Dave doesn’t know where to start? Any question Hal could possibly ask right now might be exactly the wrong one, a poorly chosen word could snip the wrong wire in the bomb and then somehow- _somehow_ , they’ll be worse off than they already are.

 

He sets his cup down for a moment, instead brings his hands up to rub at his temples, then his eyes. Dave might be willing to answer his questions, but that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t be willing to start them off.

 

“I have nightmares,” he says suddenly- knowing if he waits any longer he’ll lose his nerve. “Not… every night. But often. I dream about drowning, sinking, just being pulled downward.”

 

“I don’t sleep much those nights, or the nights after, it’s too… real. I can feel the pressure against my chest, feel my vision start to blur, it’s all real and the worst part of it is, when it happens, _I don’t fight it._ ”

 

He brings the tips of his fingers down, allows them to rest gently on top of his lips before speaking again, words echoing those he spoke the first time they met.

 

“I don’t fight it- because I _deserve_ it.”

 

“That’s something I can understand”, Dave offers. “But I don’t dream of dying.”

 

Hal has given him a starting point and he had better take it, even if it means they can no longer trust each other. He has to be _thankful_ for it, the raw honesty of his partner and the vulnerability he just displayed, giving Dave a piece of himself to get the ball rolling.

 

Dave knows a gambit when he sees one.

 

"I’m not scared of dying. If I were to go… well, I’d deserve it. Anyone who gets close to war accepts that they might die.  Being a soldier on the battlefield means it’s your job to go and deal with it daily.”

 

Talking is excruciating, even on a physical level. His voice rasps all the way down his throat, as if he hadn’t stopped smoking in twenty years. But as long as he keeps his eyes on the wall–

 

“I used to be a soldier, before the CIA. Green Berets, and then a special forces unit – FOXHOUND. My codename back then used to be _Solid Snake_. I haven’t gone by it since I dropped out.”

 

Those two words, what used to be his whole identity, are something he hadn’t said about out loud in–

 

Dave takes a pause. Sips at his soup, mostly to have an excuse for it. His hunger is gone and replaced by only by the feeling of how much _he doesn’t want to be here._

 

But, he needs to complete this particular mission. And if Hal wants to leave after he’s done…

 

“In my nightmares, I’m not dying. I’m– fighting for my life, seeing no difference in the bloodbath between enemies or comrades, machines or family. I’m out of my mind. Killing to survive because it’s what I was raised for.”

_If Hal wants to leave…_

 

“And I always win. Because– That’s the way _memories_ work. Wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

 

_I’m not about to hold it against him_

Hal remains absolutely silent as his listens to Dave speak, and for several minutes after. He presses his lips together, and rises uneasily to his feet. Without speaking he makes his way across the floor, towards the door-

 

and then returns to kneel beside the mattress, cups now resting in the sink.

 

Still, he says nothing as he leans forward, reaches out carefully placing light fingers underneath Dave’s chin and turns his head to look him in the eye.

 

 He’s frowning deeply, expression serious as he stares straight at him, considering everything he’s just been told.

 

“Solid Snake,” he says at last, still refusing to look away.

 

Does it surprise him? To hear what he’s heard? He can’t answer that even for himself. He knew Dave had been in various branches of service, possessed deadly skills, knew that killing was a part of his job up until the day they met, when he’d decided- for some reason- he’d had enough.

 

No, Hal Emmerich doesn’t know Solid Snake.

 

But he thinks- he _must_ know David Sears.

 

There’s no way it had all been a lie. Maybe it hadn’t all been truth either but…

 

“I tried drinking too,” he says at last, letting his hand fall down to the mattress. “But it didn’t work for me. I could still remember every last detail, still had the dreams. Couldn’t ever blank out the memories of the man I killed. Maybe… if it had, I’d be the same as you.”

 

“Glad it didn’t work for you”, Dave replies after a beat or two. Dead serious as well, the gravity of the situation keeping him pinned in place. But also…  paused, and honest, and– not averting his eyes. “It means you didn’t drink _enough._ ”

 

He lets that sink in for Hal.

 

The sound of _‘Solid Snake’_ as uttered by Hal’s voice had only made his uneasiness worse, unprepared to deal with how it made him feel. He had been fearing, (expecting, rather) he would leave, especially with the way he had stood so suddenly, and his chest is thrumming all the worse for it, with the shallow breaths his injury is forcing on him. And there was something else–

 

“Who was that man?”

 

Dave knows they should keep the conversation on track and the topic on him. But even if this derails it… Hal cannot expect to say something like that and receive no reaction from him in return.

 

He remembers well enough the brief mention of Dr. Emmerich in Hal’s file. _Suicide suspected and processed as an inquest, coroner’s final certificate deeming the cause of death a domestic accident._

 

A pool accident, and Hal’s phobia of water, which he had witnessed from day one. It made sense, in a way. But until now it’s been pure conjecture, and Dave is the last person on the planet who would pass a judgement on Hal Emmerich without knowing the entire truth.

 

(Maybe, not even after. It’s not like he has any moral ground for it himself.)

 

Hal makes a grim effort at a smile and nods. That he _had_ been expecting, had been mentally preparing himself for the inevitability of the topic ever since that night back in the cabin when he’d had a full blown panic attack with no explanation at all. And the funny thing about it was Dave had never asked, had simply accepted it, moved on, never brought it up.

 

But if Dave is going to be honest about the kind of man Solid Snake was, then it’s up to Hal to do the same, to let him know _exactly_ who it is he decided to risk his life to rescue.

 

“You read my file, so I’m sure you have an idea,” he begins. “They ruled it an accident, which was _polite_ of them, kind almost.” He’s replayed the events of that day in his head countless times, but he’s never told the story, not to anyone and he finds words fail him.

 

“My father… was a brilliant man,” he says quietly. “An engineer who developed complicated mechanical systems on a daily basis. Not the sort of man who suddenly forgets how to operate his own wheelchair.”

He leans back, wanting so very much to look away from Dave, but forcing himself to keep his eyes firmly on his. “He thrived on his work, was never more alive than when he was under the pressure of a challenge. So when he took his life, _and he did take it_ , it wasn’t because of stress or anxiety.”

 

“It was because of betrayal.”

 

He sees Hal’s struggle, to keep from averting his eyes, to not retreat into himself. He honors it by staying right there with him. Holding his gaze, and listening. Attentive to tone and body language equally.

 

His first impulse is to ask about details of that ‘betrayal’, but he finds the weight of Hal’s regret difficult enough to deal with even without it. It drips from his every word. Speaks to David of broken pedestals, and self-loathing.

_Feels familiar._

 

He needs to know more.

 

Dave waits.

 

Hal’s hands grip tightly at the fabric of his jeans, fabric coarse beneath his fingers. He takes a moment; Dave is clearly willing to wait for him, and takes a few breaths as he prepares to continue.

_And if Dave wants him to leave…_

 

“He was a brilliant man, but… he was just a man. You know? And… and she was just a woman.”

 

And all of a sudden he can’t see Dave anymore, even though he hasn’t turned his head, hasn’t closed his eyes- it’s just that the room has suddenly grown hazy, the water has found him, even here. It follows him, he realizes- wherever he goes.

_And if Dave wants him to leave…_

 

“And…I… I was just a boy.”

_…he won’t blame him._

 

It’s all so sudden because, he is listening attentively, not missing a single hint or cue on Hal’s face– and the way his voice is wavering pierces somewhere over his solar plexus, bringing forth an icy, immaterial wound.

 

The same eidetic memory David usually curses brings back data he had initially skimmed over in Hal’s file, names, faces, and _dates._

He can’t fight the cold sweat tonight, it seems.

 

“Hal”, he starts, and now it’s he who is asking with a gesture for his partner to look at him. Like fuck is he going to move now.

 

“What did _she_ do?”

 

“She? Julie?” Hal shakes his head violently. “She… she didn’t do anything! How…could she?”

 

“No…Julie was always sweet- kind.” he stops, suddenly finding it harder to speak as he wills himself not to cry.

 

“She…was so beautiful, she could have had anyone, you know? And it’s n-not like there weren’t men around. My father had colleagues, associates, men with power and money. R-real men. Not…”

 

“It might not have destroyed my father if she had. ”He swallows hard, finds he can’t met Dave’s gaze any longer, casts his eyes to the ground as he loses the battle against his tears.

 

“But I… she reached out to me, you see? Out of pity I guess. Pathetic wreck that I was, _am_ ,” he corrects hastily. “And I- I took that kindness and twisted it and fucked it up and she let me, and if you want to know what it was _she did_ , then that’s it. The sum of her crimes.”

 

“She’s not like me,” he whispers quietly. “She’s _good_.”

 

“You are _nothing_ like you’re describing.”

 

Careful, with slow movements, he gets close enough to put a hand on his partner’s shoulder. How long had Hal carried this kind of poison within himself? He had barely heard it and already, it’s making his stomach lurch in disgust and fury.

 

Maybe it’ll surprise both of them, to realize Dave is shaking too.

 

“Not at all”, he adds, quietly- an attempt at gentleness he can’t tell if worked. He lets silence fall over them for the ten seconds (just ten), he needs to mentally count– just enough to control his reactions. It has been so long since he had felt hate like this corroding his insides. But his anger has done enough damage already, since the previous night, and even before.

 

He keeps his voice low. He _wants_ to bring reason instead of… gut reactions. It’s a time for words.

 

“If there _were_ men like those around, Hal… Did it ever cross your mind that idea she wanted someone to have power _over?”_

It’s good that he _asked_ for Hal’s ghosts in return. Now he knows.

 

The urge to protect Hal Emmerich had never left him but it stabs at him renewed, making his blood sing just the same as that night in Hell’s Kitchen.

 

Somberly, he asks,  “How old were you when that woman started it?”

 

Hal blinks, swipes at his cheeks, trying desperately to clear his vision enough to look up at the man who, for reasons he _cannot_ fathom, is being so damn understanding. He can’t really take in what Dave is telling him. Can’t believe it for himself or even argue against it- but for some reason _Dave_ believes it.

 

And maybe for now, that’s enough.

 

He’s shaking, though he hadn’t thought he was crying quite that hard, and is surprised to realize it’s Dave’s hands on his shoulders causing him to rock back and forth.

 

“I was… sixteen when she…” he stops himself, reconsiders the terms, “the first time.”

 

“I… thought about ending it immediately after.”

 

Something in his voice lets Dave know he’s not only speaking of the affair.

 

“But- I was too weak. Kept…kept going back for more. And it… it just wasn’t ever enough, you know?”

 

“Sixteen”, Dave repeats. Confirming his own calculations.

 

The world of civilians wasn’t devoid of the kind of horrors he had seen on a battlefield. Different scale, different methods… same vile dynamics of predation and abuse upon the undeserving.

 

More than anything, he wants to hold Hal closer. He is _jackshit_ at comforting anyone verbally, and maybe… maybe a physical gesture would be more eloquent than he feels right now. Just a hug. A tight one, to let Hal know he isn’t alone, and isn’t blamed.

 

But he isn’t allowed, and he knows it. And now… he knows why.

So he keeps at it with words, and does his best to let warmth show through despite how grim they are.

 

“Are you telling me, Hal– that, what she did, made you want to kill yourself…”

 

“...And even then, that it was _you_ the one who was asking for it?

 

“I’m sorry!” Hal cries out, assuming the question is one of confusion and disgust., too lost to note the fact that Dave is doing his absolute best to console him. “I’m sorry…I… fucked up. _I’m_ fucked up. Sick or… or something and now you know.” He pulled his glasses from his face, paid them no mind when they clattered to the floor.

 

He can barely speak, can barely look at Dave, but he forces himself to choke out the words of an apology he feels is long overdue.

 

“I’m…s-so sorry, Dave,” he manages between sobs. “I… I know you thought y-you were ge-getting some k-kind of boy genius when you” he coughs, “when you saved me.”

 

“But th-the truth is- I-I’m not worth saving.”

 

Dave can’t stand to just be there and do nothing. He– just reacts.

 

He closes the distance, holds Hal against his chest, tight. Distantly, he registers he’s panting, that the way he is shaking is not only because Hal’s body is wracked with sobs.

_You fucked up. Not Hal. You._

 

“It wasn’t your fault. It was _never_ your fault.”, and he is _scared_ because, despite of how hardmuch he tried… he had only made things _worse_ , and now he’s so terrified he can’t let go. ”This is on _her._ I only wanted you to realize that.”

_Can’t hold onto anything without breaking it, **Solid Snake.**_

 

“You _are_ worth saving”, he manages, and he means it, and that’s even more terrifying in a way, because he wants it– yet he had _failed_ at it _._ “And it wasn’t your fault. None of it.”

 

“I just can’t save _anybody._ ”

 

Hal can’t speak, can’t _think-_ the only thing he’s ever been good for. Nothing about this moment is real or registering. It takes a while for him to even realize he’s being held, tightly, in unsteady arms.

 

It’s not so unlike that time at the bridge, when panic had seized him, rendered him immobile, useless, and Dave had simply picked him up, taken him to safety without a word. Without question.

 

He can hear Dave speaking to him in hushed tones, can sense the uneasiness in his voice, and Hal still feels so unworthy of care but here and now in this insistent embrace he has no choice but to listen. And the more he listens, the more he starts to wonder if Dave might be right.

 

So he coughs and he cries, lets loose the torrent of emotion he’d kept hidden away ever since that night three years ago- the feelings he’d silenced every day for fear that someone _would know_. Because Dave already knows.

And he’s still here.

 

He isn’t going to go away. Not unless Hal wants him to.

 

He… _can’t._

 

There’s a certainty on that knowledge that goes _terribly_ with the guilt of having fucked up as bad as he did. The last time Dave had dared to think himself a hero, he had been 19. And Outer Heaven had made quick work of that kind of optimism, that _shameless_ conviction of being someone doing The Right Thing, even before realizing the betrayal of the man he had respected more than anyone else.

 

He is no hero, and _he can’t save Hal._

 

The truth is, he had barely been able to keep himself alive during all those years, and even then it was only because he had sworn he wouldn’t let something like his own weakness push him to the other side, no matter how much he flirted with oblivion. And even then, spite made for  poor motivation, when it came to _loving_ the life he stubbornly clung to.

 

David lets Hal cry, uninterrupted. He can do that much - though little else.

 

He doesn’t let go.

 

Hal cries, and keeps crying, doesn’t stop until he’s physically exhausted. He’d never really let himself mourn or process any part of what had happened, finding it easier to run away and now that he has the chance he clings to it, greedily.

He doesn’t know how he got here. Across the border To Canada. To this crappy apartment. Into Dave’s arms.

 

And right now he honestly doesn’t care.

 

Because right now for the first time in his life he’s found someone who will listen (if only because he doesn’t know what to say), who will wait (though perhaps because he doesn’t know what else to do) who will hold him -as though he is unwilling or perhaps incapable of letting go. Right now it’s all Hal needs, maybe all he’s ever needed, and certainly more than he’s ever had.

 

He’s reluctant to pull away, would be content to spend the rest of the night just sitting here pressed against Dave’s chest, but knows that’s ridiculous and Dave shouldn’t be putting undue pressure on his body besides. So after the tremors subside, he simply sits there in silence for a moment before he speaks.

 

“I’m… I’m sorry,” he starts, even though he’s not exactly sure what he’s apologizing for at this point,  it’s just habit by now. “I didn’t mean to… fall apart on you like that. I should- go get cleaned up.”

 

“It’s alright”, he replies. A pause, and then tentatively: “… Sounded like you needed it.”

 

He doesn’t have tissues or anything but… Freeing just one of his hands, Dave picks his own shirt from the floor, and gives it to Hal so he has something to dry his face.

 

These are the things he knows how to do. Practical stuff. He has no source of nicotine this time, and can’t even think of a way to distract his partner, whether with more words, or a task. But even if his tea is lukewarm, he gives it to Hal, too. It’s still better than getting up and handing him a plain glass from the tap.

 

Dave is exhausted all over again, and the fear isn’t gone. There’s a part of him that wants to get away _badly,_ a tactical retreat until he can process what the fuck has happened to them with this uncoordinated attempt at _honesty._

He simply says, “Don’t move”, and keeps his embrace as tight as it had been.

 

“The night is getting cold.”

 

Hal takes the shirt and dabs at his face but stops short of actually blowing his nose because they’ve only got one set of clothing each, and who knows when they’ll be able to remedy that situation. 

 

“Thanks” he says quietly, shoulders still bucking slightly as he accepts what’s left of Dave’s tea, sipping it slowly. There’s no taste to it, having been weakly and hastily brewed, but it doesn’t seem important. He bows his head over its opening, slightly embarrassed over what he’s about to ask.

 

“Dave?” The moment seems so fragile he almost doesn’t want to speak, would rather just stay here, sleep until everything was okay again. “If I get up for a minute… can I come back?” It might seem silly, but for all he knows what Dave was offering is only temporary- the man seems so uneasy.

 

“Yeah… ‘course you can”, and David refrains himself from adding _anything_ about the impossibility of any of them being anywhere else.

 

He knows perfectly well that’s not what Hal means.

He _is_ uneasy, but… he _wants_  to do the right thing right now. Despite having absolutely no guidelines, beyond ‘don’t hurt him worse’. Slowly, he lets Hal go from his embrace, until only his hand stays, open and providing  at Hal’s shoulder.

 

Unwilling to just– surrender all contact so abruptly, perhaps.

 

He picks up the other cup, with the intention of swallowing whatever is left of his soup, fingers rubbing at the handle in a familiar motion. There are too many conflicting stimuli needling at his nerves, and he’d do almost anything for a cigarette - the thing with the ribs and how it’s affecting his breathing could have his entire blessing to _go to hell_ if that meant he could have a smoke.

 

And he doesn’t want to think of how good an analgesic booze is.

 

Softly, to Hal, “Go. I’m not moving, don’t worry.”

Hal smiles faintly before pulling himself up from the bed, already missing its warmth and quickly sets to task, first placing both of Dave’s empty cups into the sink, then heading to the tiny bathroom to relieve himself and wash his face. He stares into the mirror for a moment, eyes and cheeks still red.

 

_God, what a mess._

 

He steadies himself on the sink, simply breathing, though his chest is still heavy. Slowly he draws his fingers up to ghost over the places on his arms where he had so recently been held. And Dave? What must he think of this whole situation? Sure, he’d been understanding, comforting even- but a total emotional breakdown had not been on the agenda for the evening, and yet Hal had let loose like a ruptured dam and now here they were.

 

So what now?

 

He steps back into the main room, closing the bathroom door behind him and looks back to the bed where Dave, true to his word, is still waiting for him. He sat back down on what had become “his” side of the mattress and glances hopefully from Dave’s arms to his face, absolutely taking note of the confusion there.

 

“Is… is this going to change things?” He asks quietly. “With us?”

 

“… With us?”, and his confusion is genuine. He shakes his head. “What do you mean?”

 

But he notices the glance. Reckons this is what Hal had wanted, when he said ‘come back’, and extends his arms to him in a silent gesture to get him closer. His entire chest hurts but it isn’t anything he _shouldn’t_ be able to shrug off.

 

Especially if they stay still.

 

It’s not like they had an _agenda_ for this evening. They are going to be playing by ear… for a long time, in a lot of different ways. On a more mundane subject, he needs to have his turn at the bathroom too, and probably have some water as well. But Hal has to make himself clearer there first.

 

He is just crossing his fingers at this point that they won’t have to keep on talking, lest the conversation turn back to him.

 

It has to happen. He knows that. But knowing it and being prepared to keep on telling his own sob story until everything is laid bare, like vulture chow, is just– it isn’t him.

What _did_ he mean? Hal wonders. He doesn’t want Dave’s pity any more than he wants his disgust but he must have bared his soul for some reason, hadn’t he? Slowly he edges closer to Dave, finds his place in his arms again, mindful of pressing too hard against his chest.

 

So what was it then, at the root of their relationship? What was it he was worried about damaging?

 

“I… I just don’t want you to think you can’t rely on me,” he says quietly. “I’ll always…” he takes a moment to weigh his words carefully. “You can depend on me, I mean. Okay? Please. Just like you always have.” It was as much a request as a promise.

 

Oh. It was about that.

 

“Hal, listen…”, he starts, and– he hopes to make himself understood here, for several reasons. “I don’t think _any_ less of you for what you told me.”

 

If he were to go around judging other people for having mental breakdowns in reaction to trauma… it has nothing to do with how resentful he is of his own - the standards David had set for himself aren’t the same he applied to others.

 

His hold keeps Hal in place. Not as tight this time, but firmly.

 

“I know I can depend on you. I don’t want–”, he makes a noncommittal noise, _I don’t want to keep talking about what happened in Thunder Bay, but..._ There’s kindness amidst his solemnity when he tries again, “Youhave a phobia of water. And you pulled me out of a sinking car last night.”

 

 

“I don’t plan to stop relying on you. Give yourself some credit.”

 

“That was kind of bad ass of me, wasn’t it?” Hal chuckles softly, already feeling a little better. He closes his eyes, reliving parts of the night over again in dark flashes. It all seems like a lifetime ago.

 

“We… still have to talk about that,” he says quietly. “Not- not now, it’s too late and I’m…” he shakes his head. “But soon.”

 

 If it’s a dependency, it’s one Dave is going to be unable to indulge while they’re like this. Between that and being unable to afford cigarettes, Hal wonders how long it will be before Dave snaps.

 

“Go take care of yourself,” he says, pushing at Dave’s shoulder lightly. “I’ll be fine.”

 

David nods and stands, stretching carefully again once he is on his feet. There’s no muscle left in his body that is not protesting. He dislikes having to rest again when -objectively- he has been awake for a mere three hours,  give or take a few minutes.

 

He finds out that even after there’s no business left for him at the bathroom, he’s reluctant to go outside, back to their makeshift bed. Night has fallen, and now that his head is a little bit clearer, reason upon reason starts piling up to stay alert.

 

He… doesn’t trust himself right now. That’s the truth.

 

And as much as he wants to dismiss his _thing_ with booze as not actually addiction - he has gone through periods of heavy drinking before, hadn’t had that much of a problem toning it down or cutting it off completely those times… It hadn’t been on these terms. With someone else near, submerged in the same situation that had prompted him to pick up the habit again, only _worsened._

 

Dave rubs at his eyes, goes out of the bathroom. He _hadn’t_ been hiding.

 

Tired and avoiding looking at Hal, “I’m not sure it’s a good idea. Sharing the mattress again.”

 

He knows that, as tired as he is, he is going to have some legitimate problems falling asleep _without_ the whiskey, for a while. There’s so much tension running through his body, and he has no stamina for it, doesn’t even has his cigarettes to reduce it to manageable levels. Ever since they had gone on the run the nightmares had gotten worse; and his inner drive, the thing that allows him to discern what the fuck he is doing and where they are going, and _why,_ has been put through the wringer.

 

“Let me stand watch. It’s not practical, both of us sleeping at the same time.”

 

He is kind of breaking a promise here, isn’t he? In the end, he makes an addition, admits just a little of all the things going through his head right now: “I’ve hurt you the last two times something woke me up too suddenly.”

 

“Oh.” Hal says quietly, shuffling and pulling the blanket back around himself.

 

“Y-yeah, I guess that makes sense. Good…um thinking.”

 

He has Dave’s understanding. He doesn’t need anything beyond that, and certainly isn’t entitled to it- no matter what’s happened over the last twenty-four hours. He shifts himself  until he’s lying down, head resting on his arm and just waits- for what, he doesn’t know.

He’s bone weary, yes, tired but not sleepy, exactly. So he just lays there and stares at the wall. Several minutes pass before he speaks again.

 

“So you’re just going to sit there all night?”

 

He rolls over to look at Dave who is just… sitting there, so quietly Hal might have thought he’d left the room if he didn’t know any better.

 

“Have a better idea?”, he asks, after mulling it over for a second or two. It’s not facetious. He had assumed Hal wouldn’t take long to fall asleep, if he wasn’t already.

 

He… doesn’t have much, in the way of distracting himself. That is true. He can be extremely patient, enough to wile the hours away immobile while he stands watch, or awaits the exact moment to move during an infiltration.

 

Dave shifts his weight a little, uncomfortably, and stretches again. The soreness and the shortness of breath are annoying; and right here, the only thing he has to concentrate on is on the reactions of his own body, as if he weren’t hyper-aware of them most times. He knows it’s going to be counterproductive if he gets stuck on that.

 

If Hal has any kind of solution to throw at him, he’ll take it.

 

“I… no, I guess not,” Hal answers, turning back and burying himself further into the blankets.  Dave isn’t even speaking harshly to him, seems genuinely receptive but Hal still can’t help but feel anxious about asking anything of him.

And he’s keeping his distance because he’s _watching out for you_ , _Hal_ , not because he’s, not because you’re…

 

Hal balls his fists tightly in the folds of the blanket, telling his mind to _shut up_ , but the silence of the room isn’t helping him in that regard.

 

“Maybe… you could just talk to me?” He asks quietly, fairly confident Snake will say no. “It doesn’t have to be about, um, you know. Just, anything really. Something that happened to you. Maybe when you were a kid. Or… or something.” Everyone had at least one good story, right? Even Hal could think fondly to the time he and E.E. had been making Christmas cookies. Even if there had been far more ponies than was strictly traditional…

 

“Or, you don’t have to. It’s okay.”

 

“Hnn”, Dave mutters, weighing his options.

 

Then he stands, and goes to put on the electrical kettle. Back turned to Hal, counting the seconds while the water inside starts to boil: “Not sure I have anything good to say.”

 

The smell of tea doesn’t take long to fill the room. Dave sets his cup on the floor next to the mattress, before slipping under the blanket. He is sitting, but… he’s there. Right beside Hal.

 

It’s comforting to have something in his hands, even if it’s not what he’d prefer. But the tea (and Dave still can’t quite believe Hal didn’t brought instant coffee, despite how low on funds they were), will help him keep awake.

“I went to live in Alaska, a couple of years ago. It was a good place to be. Quiet. The air smelled clean. Built the cabin myself and all, five miles away from my next neighbor.”

 

The tea is still too hot for him to drink, but he blows the steam off it, biding his time.

 

Hal thinks Dave may turn him down in the end, for one reason or another, but soon he’s returned to his side, is sitting next to him. Hal finds comfort in the proximity. It’s different than before, he’s no longer wrapped tightly in a protective embrace, but this is good too. Seems more… sustainable, somehow.

 

“Alaska?” He repeats. “So Canada must not be too different for you then.”

 

“I got into mushing back then, a little after arrival. Gave me something to do with my time and a reason to go into the town, for something else than restocking the pantry.”

 

He can do this, especially if he is careful to leave out the more unsavory details.

 

Hal smiles slightly at the mention of dog mushing. “Somehow, that all seems… perfect. I can see you raising dogs, heh yeah.” He nods to himself and tries to envision it. Dave on a sled, Dave out in the snow with a team of huskies.  Dave in his cabin.

 

Dave… alone.

 

“…So… you like dogs then? You must miss your team.”

 

“I only had eleven of them”, he says, nodding a bit. “Good dogs. Smarter and more understanding than people, and they don’t ask questions. No drawbacks to them.”

 

Dave cracks his neck, allows himself to get lost in the memories. Not all of them were good or even anything he’d feel comfortable talking about, but his dogs…

 

“Got the first two from a man in Anchorage who was looking to get rid of them. Malamute/Husky mixes, with a bit of mutt thrown in for variety - he said they weren’t going to be of any use.”

 

… His dogs had been _good_. He may be smiling a little bit, now, without realizing it. It’s– wistful, though.

 

“The man had been _a fool._ Almost everyone includes mixed breeds in their teams, nowadays. His loss,” he shrugs. “And just my luck that I was in Anchorage that day. I didn’t usually bother going that far from Twin Lakes unless I really had to.”

 

The tea is still too hot. But it’s ok, he can keep on playing with the cup. He wonders if Hal will fall asleep to his voice or...

 

“Eleven dogs isn’t nearly enough to run the Iditarod but, the idea was to go and join the race, once I had an appropriate team. Some day.”

 

It’s nice to hear him talk this way about the dogs, about _anything_ really. It’s a tone of voice Hal hasn’t heard from him before- even if it is a little sad, there’s something about his words that is- genuine, less guarded than normal. He knows Dave’s past is likely littered with landmines and pitfalls, but right now it is as though they’ve both found a safe zone in which to bond.

 

“I like dogs too,” he chimes in. “But I never had one growing up. Let alone eleven.”

 

He’s quiet for a moment as he considers Dave’s words, interested in every detail. “So you’re saying pure-breeds are actually less desirable for a team? That’s surprising. But I– I guess,” he yawns, “- it comes down to training over breeding right? In the end? Nurture over– nature.”

 

“It’s a good thing you were in the right place at the right time,” he adds sleepily. “You would have missed out otherwise.”

 

He likes to hear Dave talk about ‘someday’. Someday Dave will get to return to what he loves. Someday this will all be behind them. Someday he…

 

… he tries not to linger on the thought and instead moves to the next.

_He likes dogs_ , he thinks, letting the idea slowly override the memory of Dave’s angry, shouting expression, because that wasn’t really him. That’s not _really_ Dave. He’s… _a good person._

 

Eyes closed, he edges closer to Dave’s side, forehead lightly resting against his hip.

 

“I hope, someday, you have the team you always wanted.”

 

He snorts, keeping the smile for a little longer. He doesn’t reject that light physical contact, stays right there, cup in his hands. “Go to sleep, kid. And thank you.”

The terrifying thing for David is, Hal doesn’t take long to fall asleep after that. It’s not the silence that gives him away, but the rhythm of the rise and fall of his chest, relaxed and regular. And he isn’t sure he deserves this much forgiveness after how he almost got them killed, how hard he failed at his role in their partnership.

 

Trust may be a strange thing, but Hal Emmerich sure as fuck gives his too easily. Quick to absolve as a pup, despite– despite everything that has been done to him.

_No self-worth, huh. You know about that._

 

Despondent, he frees one hand to run his fingers through Hal’s hair. As long as he stays alive, sure, ‘a future’ is something that _does_ exist for him. He just–

 

\- doesn’t _feel_ like he has one.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things come to ahead and the two are forced to spend some time apart. Dave finally realizes he has to admit the truth to Hal, and it becomes clear that perhaps they are more similar than they first realized.

“Dave?”

 

Hal closes the door behind him, adjusting the plastic grocery sack in his hands, eyes down as he focuses on toeing off his shoes. “Not a bad day honestly. Got set up with a couple of different services. They even have internet there, if you can believe it. And I’m allowed to bring back stuff as well. Sorry it took me a while, I thought- you know, I should stick around and help a bit. Kinda feels like I’m taking advanta-”

 

He turns to find the room empty.

 

“…Dammit.”

 

This isn’t the first time he’s returned to an empty apartment. In fact, Dave’s escapades are the only reason they now have any furniture in the room besides the bare mattress. The chairs don’t match but at least they’re easier on Hal’s knees.

 

Still, he’d sit cross-legged for a year if it meant Dave would just stop and take it easy like he’s supposed to, instead of constantly going out into the cold. He keeps insisting that it’s fine, but Hal knows that can’t be true.

 

Hal busies himself putting away the food he’s brought home, hoping the soup will still be warm when Dave returns and tries- _tries_ not to worry.

 

Dave knows he has taken too long to come back. He is still adjusting at the lower speed of movement the injury was allowing. He just… hopes his loot will stop the nagging.

 

Instead of struggling with the keys… Dave just props up the mini-fridge against his hip and knocks the door, rapping on it the short rhythm that allowed Hal to know it’s him.

 

So what if the thing is old and at least 45 pounds heavier than the _zero heavy lifting_ he should be doing? Compared with the amount he could bench-press when healthy, it shouldn’t make  much of a difference.

 

Besides, the first three days he had spent  sitting inside and doing nothing had been the worstshe could remember since–

 

  _Doesn’t matter._

 

He can smell food, though. Something he has a dire need of, after the hours he has spent dumpster-diving. _Procurement on site,_ he had joked the first time, but Hal hadn’t appreciated that. The fridge, though, he had gotten from the curb, and looked clean enough to get used after a wipe-down with bleach.

 

That, he had bought the previous day. Along with more groceries, and a pack of the cheapest cigarettes he could find, and several other equally no-brand necessities, adequate for their budget. Turned out, retrieving and re-selling useful stuff in serviceable condition _was_ a thing here too, as long as he went to the right neighborhoods for each stage.

 

In all honesty - it isn’t a living. At all. But at least they won’t be dying of hunger anytime soon.

 

Hal is already in the process of thrusting the door wide open before he’s even had a chance to consider the rudimentary coded knock he and Dave had worked out. When he sees him standing there in the doorway, fridge propped up between his hip and the wall he doesn’t know whether to sigh with relief or yell in frustration.

 

“Put that down,” he hisses. “Get inside!”

 

He does his best to push the fridge into a convenient spot in the kitchen, his own muscles straining under its weight and he can’t help but cast an annoyed look to Dave who just seems… proud of himself. Hal knows the man must be going stir crazy within these four walls; at least a hospital bed would have allowed him the benefit of awful daytime TV to pass the time- but this is getting ridiculous.

 

He shoves the door shut with both hands and pauses there for a moment, just staring at the bare wood, unable to look at Dave just yet because if he does he’ll say what he’s thinking and what he’s thinking isn’t very good.

 

“Dave…” he says slowly, still not turning away. “I- I get it. You want to help, you’re bored, maybe you even think it’s not fair for me to be the one going out every day but… please. _Please._ You’re going to hurt yourself.” His hands slid down to rest at his side, but he still found he couldn’t turn to face him. “It’s barely been a week Dave. You’re still at high risk for pneumonia and running around outside, heavy lifting, _smoking_ \- those are all putting you at an even greater risk.”

 

“I’m not even coughing”, he grumbles. He _had_ anticipated the nagging, had known Hal _would_ be worried about him again, but…

 

These days, it was hard to keep his temper at bay. And he absolutely loathes feeling so– incapacitated. In pain, and struggling with something as small as a mini-fridge, on top of the confinement.

 

Pacing around their small apartment isn’t enough to help him shed the metric fucktons of nervous energy accumulating inside of him. The first day Hal had gone outside, leaving him there, he had attempted to resume his routine as if nothing had happened and had nearly passed out attempting to do crunches. Going dumpster diving, if strenuous, is less likely to make his ribs worse.

 

And honestly he is just doing his part so cabin fever doesn’t get the better of both of them.

 

He goes to sit down, and takes out a cigarette, but doesn’t light it, not wanting to make  things worse - just the movement, calms his nerves a little. Breathing deeply, he counts to ten and _tries: “_ I know you worry, Hal. And I’m sorry for that.”

 

“We needed the fridge, though. _And_ the money I brought. This thing with the ribs, I can take it. Mission now is to _avoid dying_ here - you can’t ask me to just be a sitting duck.”

 

“Mission?” Hal turns away from the door at last and goes to Dave, purposely eschewing the other chair, instead dropping to his knees in front of him.

 

“Dave, you’re- you’re not on a mission.” Hal looks up at him, eyes questioning. “You understand that, right? You’re not under orders from,”  his mind cycles through the myriad agencies and armed forces Dave had worked for over the years, “- from anyone. Not anymore.”

 

Tentatively he places a hand on Dave’s knee, “You’re right, we’ve got to do our best to stay alive, to sustain ourselves but…you said you would rely on me, remember? Give me a chance, at least- before you run around making yourself worse. “

 

 Eyes downcast, he continues in a quieter voice. “You’re right, I- I’m barely keeping it together as it is, but if you really injure yourself, I’m not going to be able to do anything.” He sighs. “Maybe it’s unfair of me to even ask- and I know we’re in a bad way and we’re not out of danger, but we’re also not… on the battlefield. We’re just-” his shoulders fall and he shakes his head. Maybe it is impossible to get Dave to understand. Maybe “Solid Snake” isn’t as distant a memory as either of them would like to believe. Maybe he should stop trying.

 

But no. He promised Dave he could depend on him, he isn’t going to give up now.

 

“… Hal, I never said anything about _you_ being unable to keep it together.” He rubs at the bridge of his nose, and for a second, he can’t stop his exhaustion from showing. “Just– stop putting yourself down.”

 

Strange as it may seem the gesture does calm him, a little bit. He… really doesn’t like it, when Hal looks at him with such sadness. As if he were a bomb about to go off at any minute or–

 

“I don’t like you doing everything on your own.”

 

He covers Hal’s hand with his. Sometimes, he regrets even _starting_ that talk back on their first night in Winnipeg, and he’s glad they never got to continue it. He likes it better when Hal doesn’t pick up on the little things, the slang he sometimes uses. Doesn’t try to psychoanalyze his single mindedness or his motives.

 

The worst hit for his pride had been in their fourth night. Nightmares, as anticipated, and he hadn’t had the small mercy of a private room to make as if it hadn’t happened.

 

He shudders at the memory, and it’s a little bit like another dark cloud, crackling with electrical charge, passes through his face. Upping the tension in the room a couple degrees, despite his efforts.

 

“I know I’m not in the military anymore, though. That is hard to miss.”

“But as much as I like it that way, we need to stay alive, and I know myself well enough to know when I can continue.”

 

“Of- of course you do. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply…” Hal pulls his hand free, rubs at his face for a moment. It was foolish for him to think that Dave had somehow forgotten where he was, mistaken his present for his past, remaining engulfed in war.

 

Well, during the waking hours at any rate.

 

“Believe me, I don’t like the feeling of having to go out every day like I do, depending on the kindness of strangers just to make it to the next day-” he pauses, considering his words. It really hadn’t been that long ago that he and Dave were strangers, and now they rely on each other on a daily basis.

 

“Grah, I just mean-”  What is he trying to say? How can he get Dave to understand just how worried he is about him? Not just the ribs but- everything. And he doesn’t even really know what ‘everything’ is- as Dave has chosen not to revisit their earlier conversation and Hal has been too exhausted and anxious to dare.

 

“I know you’ve had a lot of training in understanding exactly what your body is capable of handling. You know exactly where that line is.” He speaks firmly, finally drawing himself up to his feet. “But I also know- and I mean, _I’ve seen_ ,” he exhales deeply, “-that you have a habit of going right on past it.”

 

Now, that had been a needle right on the back of his neck. Suddenly tensing up, Dave’s back straightens against the chair.

 

“… What do you know”, he growls. Not loud. Not animalistic.

 

Just soft and terse enough to let know he– hadn’t liked that one.

 

He has enough self awareness to know he’s getting defensive. And isn’t so hypocritical as to _not_ know which of the things he has been doing lately was (easily), bringing him the most guilt.

 

But Hal isn’t supposed to know.

 

And even if it’s not Hal’s fault that he knows… These days, he has really been having trouble keeping his temper under control, with everything that has happened. If this conversation means he’s about to lose any of the already too fragile coping mechanisms he is desperately trying to set in place–

 

… No. This isn’t alright. _It’s not Hal’s fault._ Dave– He needs to get away from here, he doesn’t want to hurt Hal, not again. It’s unfair. It’s– horrifying, he wants to protect him, and to stop making everything worse.

 

_It’s not Hal’s fault you’re like this. He is just worried about your miserable ass._

He grabs the pack of cigarettes, lighter inside.

 

“I’m going out.”

 

“Dave?”

 

Hal turns suddenly, sees him rise sharply from his chair.

“Dave?”

 

He reaches out to pluck at his sleeve, feels it tugged harshly from his grip.

 

“DAVE!”

 

He’s done it now, he’s absolutely gone and fucked it all up. Dave has his back to him, Dave- the man who has only thrown his entire life away to give some pathetic loser a chance at starting over. Why the hell did he think he had any right to question _anything_ he did? The kind of life he’s led, the violence, the bloodshed- well it’s a wonder he’s still standing, really.

 

_And now he’s stuck here. With you._

_And you can’t do anything for him._

_You only make things worse._

“Fuck, I’m sorry Dave! I know I don’t have any right. Look, you don’t have to go anywhere, I’ll– I’ll go!” He scrambles for the door, determined to beat him there, scooping his shoes up in one arm as he thrust the door open. If he can’t be useful, he can at least make an effort to stop making things worse.

 

The situation is escalating as quickly as the exploding pressure of their combined stress allows, and Dave is _panicking_ now, again, with his wrecked nerves waging war against his guilt. He grabs at Hal, grips at his arm, doing his best to be firm instead of hurtful with some success.

 

He isn’t as effective with toning down his words, though. “Jesus Christ, Hal! Will you just–! I’m not abandoning you!”

 

He lets go, rubs at the bridge of his nose, his free hand closing the door delicately enough to not slam it, and then falling at his side. Twitching uselessly, fingers rubbing against his thumb.

 

David’s façade slips just a bit with a quieter voice: “I just needed space to calm down. This isn’t good for you. I’m not–”

 

… And crumbles in a hushed tone:

 

“I’m just no good to be near _anyone_ right now.”

 

His ribs are punishing him for the exertion, forcing him into shallow breathing that does _nothing_ to bring down the static running through his body. He swallows, and it’s a testament of how legitimately tired he is, that his anguish is showing on his face - no longer masked by anger or severity:

 

“… What the hell are we doing, Hal?”

 

Hal tries his hardest not to recoil when Dave reaches out, half expecting to be hit or shoved out of the way, even though _that’s stupid, Dave’s never done anything like that to you, wouldn’t ever, why are you even thinking that way? Dave is just-_

 

And then it hits him.

 

As Dave’s words become softer, tone more uneven, he realizes- Dave is just as broken, just as uncertain as he is. For all his strength and courage and determination there is a part of him that has… doubts? His fears aren’t relegated to the night, don’t vanish when he wakes from restless sleep.

 

And it’s terrifying for Hal to realize this man he’s come to rely on is flawed. He has weaknesses. There’s a breaking point- one that’s so close they can _both_ feel it.

 

Hal has never been good with people- but in this moment, he thinks he’s never understood anyone better.

 

“We’re doing…” his voice wavers, absolutely unsure himself. “…the best we can.” He offers a weak smile.

 

“Look, Dave- I mean it. I’m sorry. Just… take care of yourself. Eat something. I’ll- look, I’ll just go to the library okay?” He starts pulling on his shoes quickly, runs a hand through his hair. “I’ll sit there and read til it closes and I’ll be back before dark. You don’t have to worry about me and you can have the peace and quiet you need.”

 

“O-okay?”

 

Dave shakes his head, letting go. Steps away from the door. “Don’t want you to go away like that. It’s cold outside.”

But, he knows he needs the isolation. Craves it. Everything sets him off these days and– he hands Hal his flannel shirt. Not the cleanest thing, but without a jacket, the only warm item he has to give him.

 

Even if David hadn’t had days to realize how much he cares about Hal, and just how uncomfortable that makes him... Hal doesn’t deserve his fuckups.

 

    _He is terrified of you, you know. And he is right to be._

So, he goes and opens up the small container with the soup with no other words. Sits down to eat, and doesn’t prevent Hal from leaving.

 

He has no idea of how to fix this. Strategic retreat it is.

 

Hal stands at the door for a moment, simply holding the flannel shirt in his hands before slipping it on over his clothing, shoving the sleeves up just a few inches so they don’t slip over his fingertips. He looks back at Dave who is now sitting at the table preparing to eat- totally resigned.

 

“Thanks,” he says quietly. He’s got to go, for both their sake- but maybe he doesn’t have to leave quite like this.

 

He returns to the bag on the counter for just a moment, grabs the pieces of bread still waiting at the bottom and sets them on the table next to Dave’s soup. Before he can think better of it, he leans down, hugs him around the neck briefly, before pulling away quickly and returning to the door.

 

“I’ll be back soon,” he says, nodding back to Dave.

—

“Soon” ends up being about four hours later, when the sun is setting and the night chill is starting to creep through all of Hal’s layers. His fingers have started to grow numb around a stack of books he’d been able to check out, thankful that their fake ID was good enough to sign up for a library card. The severe looking woman at the desk had given him a cross look, but who had ever heard of someone faking their name to check out reading material? Someone with massive fines, probably.  Hal reminds himself to make sure everything is returned promptly, not wanting to add “overdue library books” to his increasingly long rap sheet.

 

He knocks on the door, the short chain they’ve established before shifting his load in order to make an attempt at the handle. Once inside he sets the books down on their counter with a satisfied smile.

 

“Brought back some things to read. Thought- maybe that’d help make it a little easier to pass the time? I didn’t know what you might like, so I grabbed some different stuff. Best sellers. Some sci-fi.” Okay, maybe that one was for himself.

 

Hal being in such good spirits along with his peace offering leave Dave equally wordless for both things. He closes the door and stays there a second more than necessary, assessing the situation.

 

It had been a while since he last had opened a book. He hadn’t had the time. Hadn’t had the energy. Hal couldn’t have known he liked them, then - probably had been just trying to find a way to convince Dave to stay inside, stop his escapades.

 

“I like classics”, he says, in the end. His surprise gives way to a certain softness when he spots White Fang under Hannibal, Snow Crash, and a couple of Grisham’s. He moves those to the side to pick it up. So Hal _had_ been paying attention when he had spoken of Alaska? Enough for it to stick, and to take that into account when thinking what could Dave enjoy.

He… honestly doesn’t deserve this.

 

That had been the only thing he had been able to draw from the time he had spent alone, not doing anything worse than chain smoking by the window while he tried to think of what the hell was he going to do once Hal came back, unable to reach any kind of answer.

 

Dave thumbs at the novel for a second. Wolfdog adapting back to kindness, as opposed to Call of The Wild’s theme, and he snorts before setting it back on the counter. The reference isn’t lost in him, and he is left wondering whether Hal had done it on purpose.

 

“Sit down”, he says, and puts on the kettle to make him some tea. There’s something warm shifting inside him, and Dave squashes down both the emotion itself and the uneasiness it brings him.

 

If Hal wants to talk, though… he won’t fight it.

 

“I’ll remember that for next time,” Hal answers, gratified when Dave picks up a volume to thumb through. It looks like his gamble on the combination of dogs and the Alaskan wilderness has paid off.

 

He sits down abruptly at the table, half expecting Dave to jab at him with a playful “good boy”, but it doesn’t seem that his mood has improved during Hal’s absence. Maybe he hasn’t been gone long enough. He could always try and spend a night at a shelter, somewhere safe and out of Dave’s hair. He mulls over the options, barely noticing as Dave puts on the kettle.

 

It isn’t until two mugs are on the table that he’s shaken from his thoughts, looks up to see Dave looking down at him, expression still dark. At least Hal has had a chance to calm down, and it looks like it will fall to him to take the initiative.

“Should- should we talk?”

 

“I’m just tired enough for that to work”, Dave replies, sitting down and picking up his own mug to warm his hands.

 

Soaking in regret as he had been, he had even considered either going away to avoid this conversation, or getting drunk enough to withstand it. But although Dave hadn’t been raised to be in possession of a conscience, he had one anyway, and it hadn’t allowed him either.

 

Besides, that would have just jeopardized the mission further. Anything other than toughing it out and complying would have been unfitting from him.

 

“Tell me where to start from, and I will”, he states.

 

    ‘ _At your command’ again, huh._

 

“Okay,” Hal says, although he has no idea where to begin. He’d tried opening up about himself but that had just spun everything around and ended up with Dave trying to comfort him, of all things. But right now they had to keep things focused on Dave. It might be too optimistic to imagine the process will be cathartic, but if they’re ever going to fix things, he knows it’s necessary.

 

But without knowing which questions to ask, he can only start with honesty.

 

“I’ve seen you, you know. I mean, that’s obvious. I’ve seen what happens at night. I keep my distance because I don’t want you to..” _easy Hal_ , “…feel guilty if something happened, _by accident,_ ” he emphasizes. “It’s worse than anything I’ve ever had to deal with- and I assume that’s why…” he trails off. Hell can’t he even say it out loud?

 

“The reason I drink?”, Dave asks, quietly.

 

He… doesn’t want to do this, no. He swallows.

 

“… I didn’t know you had seen me having the nightmares. In fact - had been glad you hadn’t.”

 

He’d rather be getting shot at, than be here, talking about this.

 

“Hal”, he tries. “Did I tell you about my last assignment, before you?”

 

Maybe this will be easier if he is– able to set it down a timeline, or something. Provide causes, effects. Hal is a scientist - perhaps one who hasn’t finished his studies, yet it’s painfully clear in the way Dave has seen him work at a problem, process information.

 

Maybe if he takes a page from his methods….

 

Hal shakes his head, “No. We haven’t really talked about your, _um_ , work at all.”

 

He looks at Dave and tries to remember the way he’d appeared when they first met back in May. Sharp suit. Dark glasses. Eyes narrowed and trained on his mark. Everything about him screamed ‘professional’- until for some reason he’d decided to throw it all away, as though it was no more difficult than tossing his necktie into the garbage.

There had never been any explanation for it; Hal had always been worried that if he ever brought it up Dave might rethink the whole arrangement. It was foolish, in retrospect, to imagine that it had all come down to that one day. Dave had made up his mind in what seemed like an instant, but perhaps he’d actually been thinking it over for some time. And now it seems like Hal is going to get the full story.

 

“Was it another extraction?” He asks. “Someone like me?”

 

“No”. His is a definite answer. Somberly, he affixes his stare to the tea, the swirling steam coming off it. “Executions. Four of them.”

 

“Back in February, I was assigned to a long mission overseas.”

 

“I won’t pretend to bore you with the backstory of this, so I’ll keep it short. Before Zanzibarland was established in ‘97, there had already been a civil war going on right next to it in Afghanistan for years.”

 

“The interests of the United States needed to accentuate the conflict there so that it escalated enough to justify a new intervention. And Pakistani politics played right into it.” He can’t quite look Hal in the eye. “I was sent there to assassinate four military leaders, so then General Musharraf could seize control of the country through a coup de état. I saw what the consequences of that were, even as I was there and continued until the mission was complete.”

 

“So, I finish it”, _because I’m not a good man - never was,_ he wants to say. “And then come back… and before I’m allowed a single day of shore leave, I get assigned to _you”._

“I had been entertaining the idea of just leaving everything behind before, but the CIA had too much dirt on me to do it through the regular channels. If I ever did, it wasn’t going to be in good terms.”

“War is war. It’s simple enough, and doesn’t change. Always about nations, ideologies, ethnicities… I didn’t care much, did my share of it with the Green Berets, always thinking I was some sort of hero. Even in FOXHOUND. The men I admired, commanders and friends, all of them had spent their lives as soldiers. I wanted to be the same. I _liked_ that life.”

 

He has talked too much already, but it kind of feels like a purge, to finally say what has been tormenting him this whole time. Bitterly he adds, “I know what war is all about now and I _still_ miss it.”

 

For all he liked to think CIA work and being a soldier weren’t that related… One fed the other. He had gladly taken lives as a soldier, but the lives he hadn’t wanted to take as an agent– it had been under the orders of the same government.

 

“As if it wasn’t good enough that you were so goddamn guilty you weren’t even pleading for your life.” He finally looks at Hal. “The first thing I have to do after coming back is to keep on killing innocent people for the sake of a war going on in that same area.”

 

“I was sick of it. Fighting for something I didn’t believe in.”

 

The cup sits still in Hal’s hands, firmly on the table. He’s afraid to lift it, can’t drink, genuinely concerned that any movement on his part will stop Dave from speaking, and he’s never heard him talk like this about himself, about anything. And just because Dave is finally opening up, at long last, Hal doesn’t delude himself into thinking for one moment that it’s easy for him.

 

But Dave’s words do confirm his suspicions that it wasn’t just his pathetic ass that convinced him to leave the CIA behind. It’s a relief, actually- he’d been carrying that uncertainty around his neck for months, just waiting for the moment that Dave would throw it back in his face, call him ungrateful for failing to appreciate the sacrifice he made for _his_ sake- but it never came.

Hal’s hands leave his cup as he reaches out across the table to take Dave’s in his. “Dave, I- I can’t imagine. I mean if it was too much for a veteran soldier like you,” he shakes his head. “I don’t blame you for struggling to find a way to cope.”

 

“I had left before”, he says, and doesn’t reject Hal’s hand grabbing his. Even if it’s hard to keep on looking at him.

 

He hadn’t been sure of what he had been expecting, as a reaction. Should’ve figured Hal would find it in him to be _understanding._ That kindness in his nature had been one of the things that–

 

Dave shakes his head, openly resenting himself -  the expression of disgust he wears say it clearly enough. “After all, the CIA pulled me from Alaska. It wasn’t a nice, clean transfer, from FOXHOUND to their roster. I had dropped out in 1995.”

 

A pause, and then, “I’m not sure I want to talk about FOXHOUND. Doesn’t matter, in relation to you at least.”

 

Hal’s pity is already too much for him to take. He’d rather not add to it with the story of why he had cast FOXHOUND away, what had first _started_ his nightmares. Memories of his commander, _his father_ , beaten down to a pulp under his fists. Of hot metal, nuclear war machines three times his size, and NATO’s airstrike as he left.

 

Not for the first time, he looks for some way - any way - to make the dreaded conversation easier.

 

“I’m not going to ask you about it, then,” Hal agrees. David is being incredibly open with him right now. Little good can come from prying where he’s not wanted, especially if Dave has already decided it isn’t at the core of the issue.

 

“The important part here is that I almost got you killed, pulling that stunt back at Thunder Bay.”

 

Hal is quiet at the mention of the bay. It had been a close call, _too_ close, but he’s not sure how he feels about Dave taking all the blame.

 

“There’s plenty of blame to go around,” he says at last. “My hasty work led them to us in the first place. And up until that point you’ve always been perfectly-”

 

No. He can’t. He can’t just pardon Dave. That’s not what he’s looking for anyway, and certainly not what he needs.

 

“Okay, you’re right. You were- _wasted_. You got behind the wheel, and I _let_ you,” he admits, “-and as a result we both almost died.” He crosses his arms, leans forward on the table. “God it doesn’t feel real, you know? I mean, I know it happened, we’re here and that’s proof enough but- it seems like another life.” Sighing, “I don’t know, Dave. If- if you hadn’t been relying on the drinking, you wouldn’t have been sleeping. That’s almost as bad, worse, in some ways. Take it from a professional insomniac. Would have left us in the same place. So- let’s just try to figure out some other way for you to deal, okay?”

 

He’s grateful that Hal doesn’t press the issue with FOXHOUND.

 

And he’s grateful that Hal doesn’t just go and forgive him.

 

They can’t go on like they had. _He can’t._ Even if he has absolutely no clue on how to– fix this issue. Still feels keenly the impulse to just deal quietly and on his own with it, instead of keep on talking.

 

Something has got to give.

 

Serious, and _exhausted,_ “Hal”, he starts, and it takes him a moment, but… he completes that sentence. “Next time you don’t agree with something, speak your mind.”

 

“Do you really mean that?” The question is out of his mouth before Hal has a chance to reconsider, but once it’s said, he can’t find it in himself to regret it completely. After all, how many times has he told himself, _You’ll work it out. It will be okay…eventually?_

“I just mean, that- that’s the right thing to tell me right now, but what about later? What about when you really don’t like what I have to say?” He’s tried to forget the wild look in Dave’s eyes the night of the crash, the way he’d screamed in his face, instantly assumed- _known_ it was Hal’s fault. And now Dave really expects him to challenge him when the time comes?

 

But if Dave is going to make the effort, then Hal has to rise to the occasion as well.

 

“We’re supposed to be partners, Hal. Can’t have you being so terrified of me you never oppose me, especially when you _know better.”_

Dave sips at his tea, deep in thought, and adds, “I’ve quit before. I’ll be ok.”

 

Whatever mess he has inside… nobody can just go and ‘fix’ another human being. No matter how much Hal wants to help, it’s on him to get over it.

 

Besides, it’s not like Hal doesn’t have enough trauma to work on within himself.

 

“Partners,” he says- and putting a name to it makes it feel real. “I like the sound of that.”

 

“Glad you do”, Dave sighs. Is that the sound of remorse? “I thought it had been obvious. Apparently, I never made it clear.”

 

He _had_ screamed at Hal that night, after all. Amongst all the other things he had done. It would've been hypocritical from him to be surprised to realize Hal fears him. He had brought that onto himself.

 

The tea has an aftertaste as bitter as that of  inaction right now, and he has to swallow both.

 

“I meant what I said. You have to tell me, I’m not going back on my word there.”

 

Eyes lowered by the same guilt churning under his windpipe, he adds, “I wasn’t in control that night. Shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

 

_Pretty euphemistic way you got there to admit you were shitfaced._

“Sorry about that, too.”

 

He isn’t sure there’s much more he can say, on– anything.

 

It’s strange to realize he _wants_ to sleep.

“It’s… well it’s not _okay_ ,” Hal replies. “But it’s… in the past, and I think maybe we’ve had enough of that for one night.”

 

He slumps forward suddenly, releasing a huge sigh as his arms flop bonelessly onto the table, sending his hand a few inches further up to Dave’s wrist. With his face planted sideways onto the the cheap wood he speaks with as much enthusiasm as he can muster, which, to be honest- isn’t much.

 

“I’ll do my best Dave. It- doesn’t come easily to me, y’know, but I’m going to try.” If Hal wants Dave to depend on him, that that includes depending on him to be absolutely truthful about things when he foresees an issue, instead of hoping things will just work out. He wonders to himself how many times he’s allowed that to happen, not just with Dave, but in his entire life- allowed someone else to make a decision that didn’t sit well with him, assume he’d eventually figure out a way to deal with it…

 

..he realizes he doesn’t have the stamina to board that train of thought right now.

 

“We’ll figure out something that works for the both of us. Mmf.” Body still slumped over on the table he glances up at Dave, is really only able to catch a glimpse of his shirt _you’re still wearing his flannel,_ he’s reminded.

 

“Are you as tired as I am?”

 

Taking into consideration all the things he has said today, all the tar that has been stuck festering inside him…

 

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

 

… Admitting he _is_ drained out loud instead of having the words dragged out of him isn’t as hard as it usually is.

 

“Guess today we aren’t taking turns for watching?” It’s a rhetorical question, as he stands (controlling his need to cough as he does via sheer stubbornness), downing what’s left of his tea before setting the cup in the sink. Even if Hal hadn’t said anything, he can see how fatigued he is in the dark circles set almost permanently under his eyes, the way his body lies atop the kitchen table.

 

Dave is not about to ask him to stand watch. And as for himself…

 

As much as he resents sleeping, he recognizes the need for it. And after this talk, he doesn’t want to stay awake in silence to mull over everything he’s revealed in a single conversation.

 

The apartment is getting cold again, the temperature outside dropping lower every night, warmth seeping out with ease, even if they don’t have any visible gaps or fissures in their windows.

 

Dave toes off his shoes, and sits down on the mattress. Sliding under the blanket on what, apparently, has become ‘his’ side of the bed. They don’t usually do this, sleeping at the same time - not after their arrival. There’s a vulnerability implied there that, for him, feels a lot like baring his throat.

 

And, he knows he’s tired enough to get to sleep soon after. But he hasn’t had anything to drink, and the threat of having a crisis weighs down heavily on him. Gives an edge to his exhaustion.

 

He says, “Get yourself over here”, _before I decide this is a terrible idea._

Hal lifts his head a few inches from the table as Dave speaks, pushes himself up with no small amount of effort. He simply sits in his chair for a moment, staring across the room to where Dave is seated, absolutely noticing the tension in his posture.

 

For a moment he wonders if this is the first test, if he should say something in protest- or at least ask Dave, make sure he’s certain.

 

As he stands, he doesn’t say, “Are you sure?”

 

When he turns out the light, doesn’t ask, “Do you really think this is a good idea?”

 

And as he pulls off his own sneakers, finds a place next to Dave, he doesn’t check, “Is this okay?”

 

He’s far too tired for any of that.  Sleepy, yes, but also just weary of all the extra energy and effort it takes to be constantly on his guard. It’s part of his reality now, part of the life he signed up for when he fled across the border- but he wishes there was just one place where he could… rest.

 

Hal suspects you can’t just wait for such a thing to come to you, you have to go out and find it. Make it for yourself.

 

And with Dave, he’s sure as hell willing to try.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to give a little shout out and thanks to all of the people who have left us comments here or on tumblr. Your encouragement means so much to us!  
> And on that note, we just got our first piece of fanart inspired by this installment, so thanks to Em for this awesome illustration: http://2sneeaky.tumblr.com/post/134946233460

**Author's Note:**

> ((I have to give credit where credit is due. LotusRox came up with that absolutely brilliant reference at the end there and I *screamed* when it floated across my dash. Top notch work there, buddy.))


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